StarCraft: The Full Story Series
by Sid Palmer
Summary: An indepth telling of the StarCraft saga. Look inside for more. Part 5 (Conclusion) of Authority Rejected is now up! If the end leaves you wanting more, just wait for the sequel "Authority Asserted" now in development. R&R please!
1. Prologue

Starcraft: The Full Story  
  
Starcraft's story is one of the better game stories out there, but in the game you only get the overall picture. I wanted to give the lesser events a chance to be told and show what it may be like to be one of the lesser people in the story. There are also entities in the Starcraft universe that are not seen in the main story, but must certainly have a place. So this story serves a double purpose, to present Starcraft's story in a written format (which is owned by Blizzard Entertainment and which I am in no way profiting from nor is anyone else to the best of my knowledge), and to add a depth and feeling that a dramatic story deserves. This will most likely be long and in many parts to allow for this depth, but the story deserves no less. The continuity of the story will remain, but many old and new elements will enter the story and add their twists to it.  
  
Prologue: The Determinant  
  
It could be described as a swarm, and in the future it would be called that many times, but for now the many shapes with their strange protrusions hung motionless on the dark side of a moon. Though the many, many vessels of the swarm sat in the all encompassing void, their hard, tough exoskeletons prevented their destruction.  
  
The living ships, and the variety of creatures within understood one thing above all else: Obey the Overmind. Just beneath that, however, lay their insatiable lust for killing and destruction. Rarely did this cause them to go beyond the Overmind's control, for it was absolute. The Overmind itself was a creature unlike any other. Created by the Xel'Naga, the benevolent master race that at one time ruled over thousands of worlds and conducted grand experiments in species evolution, the Overmind's greatest strength was its unending capacity to learn. Originally its role was to serve as the hive mind of its race, the Zerg. Learning quickly the Overmind used the Zerg's Xel'Naga imbued "purity of essence" to evolve the once defenseless parasitic species into one capable of space flight. By assimilating the genetic characteristics of only those species that were the most superior to create ever more deadly strains, the Zerg fashioned their bodies into the perfect weapons. Always the strains made an ingenious use of blades, projectiles, chemicals, and plagues.  
  
The day came when the Zerg turned against their benefactors, breaching their worldships and utterly erasing their last vestige from this galaxy. From assimilating the Xel'Naga the Overmind learned of how it was created and of its elder brother race, the Protoss. The Overmind knew that a conflict with this race was inevitable, and with this knowledge it set out to assimilate the Protoss' "purity of form" and in doing so make the Zerg perfect.  
  
That had been millennia ago, and now, as the swarm neared Protoss space, the Overmind has begun to fear, for it had found no race, no final determinant that would give the Zerg the capability to combat the Protoss' psionic abilities. That is why it has taken the precaution of hiding the swarm in the shadow of a moon, to prevent any Protoss vessel from happening upon them, even though it was a million to one chance this far from Protoss space.  
  
In the Overmind's central chamber, deep within the swarm fleet, several psychic organs grown into the walls allowed the minds of the Cerebrates to communicate with the Overmind and each other. The Cerebrates were "offspring" of the Overmind, they thought independently so that they could command their separate broods to perform the tasks delegated to them by the Overmind. However, the Cerebrates were always under the Overmind's control.  
  
The Overmind's psychic communications resonated in the chamber and into the minds of the Cerebrates, more an energy or feeling than actual speech, "WE GROW CLOSER TO OUR FINAL CHALLENGE AND STILL WE LACK THE STRENGTH TO BE CERTAIN OF OUR DOMINANCE OVER THE PROTOSS."  
  
Daggoth, cerebrate of the Tiamat brood which consisted of the command fleet, responded to it in a deep, grating voice, "Surely there must be a race in this galaxy, other than the Protoss, that has psionic attributes."  
  
Nargil, cerebrate of the Fenris brood, said to the contrary in its sullen, husky voice, "Not once in all the time the swarm has existed has a strain with psionic potential been found. There is no other race so psionically advanced as the Protoss" Nargil would know because its brood scouted for new species and hunted those who would try and flee the swarm.  
  
Gorn of the Baelrog brood, one that existed to induce terror upon its enemies, spoke up with its shrieking voice, "Is the wrath of the swarm not truly unstoppable? We have always brought forth doom to those who would oppose the swarm, the Protoss are no different. We should rush into battle against them and destroy them before they have a chance to react!" To the casual observer the chamber seemed as silent and nearly as motionless as the dead space without. The energies of the multiple psycic exchanges caused only the smallest reasonance to ocsillate the chamber.  
  
Now Zasz, cerebrate of the Garm brood, the primary assault force, joined the discussion with its reasoning, and snakelike speech, "We have had this conversation many times throughout the ages, and it is always the same; where is the determinant, what shall we do if it does not exist? Now we must decide what to do without this determinant. Is it wise to blindly attack or shall we probe the enemy for weaknesses, though they be few and difficult to exploit.  
  
"But the danger is greater now than ever before," remarked Nargil.  
  
"My brood will prevent any harm to the Overmind or us," Daggoth quickly put in.  
  
Araq, cerebrate of the swarm's humungous Jormungand primary support brood urged in its deep oppresive voice, "Anything is better than remaining here, the Zerg do not hide. Never has the tide of the swarm been stemed. Always will it bathe in glory in the juices of those who resist it."  
  
"There is always the option of retreat, to not fight, or simply postpone our encounter," proposed Nargil. The assembled conciousnesses of the Cerebrates continued to comtimplate the confounding cerebral challenge that had plagued them for millenia while the tan, fleshy, trillobite shaped organs pulsed with those thoughts.  
  
The Overmind responded, "NO, THE ZERG WILL NEVER BECOME INVINCIBLE UNTIL THE PROTOSS HAVE JOINED US, WE MUST BATTLE THEM, WE MUST FIND THE DETERMINANT." Then something happened that was not normal for these meetings that been almost exactly the same for a thousand years.  
  
"I have received a message from one of my deep space probes," Nargil informed the gathered cerebrates causing them to fall silent, "it has encountered a new race that may be only the smallest evolutionary jump away from gaining the ability of psionic manipulation!"  
  
Zasz burst out, "As one our strains we could develop this power to its highest potential."  
  
"SILENCE, LET THE ENTIRETY OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE ENRICH US AS THE CREEP DOES," instructed the Overmind as fluids secreted by the living chamber floated about the gravity forsaken room.  
  
Nargil did so, "They are a short lived and weak race," their hopes plummeted, "but yet they fight amongst themselves endlessly, always prepared to counter an attack," hopes began to rise again, "sometimes they may rush into battle with foolish abandon, but they always have a strategy, sometimes quite unconventional ones. They despise the idea of being controlled. Still, against the Protoss or the swarm they would ultimately fail."  
  
"IN TIME THEY WILL ENJOY BEING LED BY MY WILL AS SERVANTS OF THE SWARM, SO BE IT, THIS RACE WILL JOIN WITH OURS AND SERVE AS OUR DETERMINANT," the Overmind asserted. The cerebrates became contented and silent for a few minutes, the addition of a new strain was a joyous event, it was similar to having a new member added to their family.  
  
Then Daggoth asked, "Shall we enter warp space and begin the assimilation immediately?" The amount of fluid that hovered about the chamber increased as the secretions became greater with the now increased psycic traffic.  
  
"No," offered Zasz, "we shall move with patience as we always have, enhancing our race with those others who are worthy, so that we shall be that much more powerful when the time for battle comes.  
  
"ZASZ SPEAKS MY WILL, IN THE TIME WE TRAVEL, WE SHALL LEARN OF THIS PART OF THE GALAXY, AND SWELL THE SWARM'S NUMBERS, PREPARING FOR THE TRIALS AHEAD," the Overmind agreed.  
  
Now, the fleet of living ships began to move. The light of the star bathed the tan brown shapes as they left the shadow of the moon. With a now slightly altered course, the unfathomable numbers of the swarm plummeted into the black depths of space, never looking back. 


	2. Authority Rejected P1

40 years later...  
  
Authority Rejected  
Part 1  
  
Washington's was one of the classier restaurants in the Tarsonian capital city, and as one might guess by its name, was a popular place for politicians to gather for luncheons between sessions of the senate to talk about the issues of the day. Angus Mensk, a senator from the Confederate colony Korhal, sat in the outside dining courtyard with two of his fellow senators. People enjoyed eating outside this time of year on Tarsonis. The air was cool and the canopy of trees overhead would periodically disperse a few brittle green leaves on the patrons as they ate.  
  
Though one would usually hear words like "budget", "taxes", and "election" strung within people's conversations here, the most recent and controversial plan of the Confederacy weighed very heavily on Angus Mensk's mind.  
  
Confederate senator Carol Warren was a practical woman and a strong backer of the Confederacy. "So, what's your take on the Confederate position, Angus," she asked.  
  
"Frankly, I think it heralds the Confederacy launching itself into a new era of colonial oppression. Its a hard-headed and downright fool's idea," he replied swallowing a bite.  
  
"Its a hard decision, but Korhal is one of the Confederacy's most prized colonies, and their government is already the same. I don't see why this little shift is so hotly debated," Senator Howard Lowe of Chau Sara added.  
  
"How would you feel if it was not Korhal's last bit of independence they wanted to take control of, but instead were planning to take direct rule over Chau Sara, Senator?" Angus insinuated. Lowe said nothing, looking down at his plate and taking another mouthful of his food.  
  
"I think you're taking this a little too far, Angus," advised Carol, picking a leaf out of her food and tossing it to the ground, "besides you can't compare Korhal with a colony like Chau Sara.  
  
"I don't understand why they would take such an action on a whim like this," Lowe puzzled, almost choking on his wine.  
  
Sen. Warren glanced around her and pulled herself closer to the table and told them in a hushed voice, "They've been been getting more and more edgy about the colonies ever since the Guild Wars. They want to impose more control over all of the colonies eventually because they're afraid they might revolt at anytime. They chose Korhal because its the most valuable to the Confederacy."  
  
"The people of Korhal are tired of having Confederate outposts police them all the time. It is a self sufficient colony, they can rule themselves. We don't want a full Confederate government to be installed," explained Angus, "I have to go finish lunch and get ready for the next session of the senate, I will not let the Confederacy do this to us."  
  
Back on Korhal, Pavel Wellington was not having an enjoyable day. He worked as a lab technician in Augustgrad examining interplanetary geological and biological samples with high-tech tools. When he told people this, they told him how wonderful it must be. It paid well, he owned a two story house, three vehicles, wife and kids, satellite TV, even a guy to come in every week to cut the green-purple grass that grew on Korhal. However, he was bored. Over time he had lost interest in the samples that came in, they all begin to blur into repetition. Fifty percent iron, silicon based life form, highly radioactive substance, it didn't really matter to him any more.  
  
This affected his work, today he had miscalibrated the machines causing inaccurate readings of every sample for the day. His boss had said he may not have a job tomorrow. On the way home from work his car had broken down. The hover just shut off and it crashed to the ground with a shower of sparks. The problem wasn't anything simple like the battery or a blocked air intake either.  
  
This forced him to go on foot right were he didn't want to be today, the Confederate outpost. Even today, when Korhal was almost as developed and sophisticated as Tarsonis, the Confederates still treated them like children. Sometimes they would patrol the streets, and get in people's faces if they didn't like the look of them, and they were within the rules doing it too. You didn't dare speak up or fight, their Gauss rifles made sure of that.  
  
Still, the thing that made this a bad day, for everybody, was the news that the Confederacy was going to set up a formal government on Korhal. This likely would mean an increased military presence. He had thought it was bad before, but god, what now! He didn't even have it that bad, being upper class. The soldiers would go hardcore on people in poorer, less influential neighborhoods. He had heard of people being roughed up by drunken soldiers, even shot to death! The Confederacy would sometimes imprison or dishonorably discharge one of their own, but they were token gestures, they'd always say that Korhal had it the best out of all of the colonies, so they shouldn't complain.  
  
Pavel was passing the rod iron gate of the outpost now. It was obvious that the base was designed to not look threatening. It had well trimmed grass and real buildings with foundations, not the drag and drop barracks utilized on the battlefield. The tan cream color of the building blended with the sunlight. Being assigned duty on Korhal was lax and everybody knew it.  
  
However, things seemed different today. The gate guards were in their full marine exosuit armor, the marines on Korhal didn't usually wear their armor, even when on duty. They acted different too. They might usually joke about him or gesture, even point a gun and pull the trigger while the safety was on to scare the shit out of him. Now they stood like silent stone sentinels. They stared with a measurable tension in their eyes. The rest of the base was just as quiet and tense, he could feel it in the air.  
  
Pavel had always wondered why the Confederates treated them the way they do. His conclusion was fear, fear that they would be surpassed by Korhal, because they certainly were not a lesser people.  
  
It was then, when he was deep in his own thoughts, and about to turn the corner out of sight of the base, that his life changed forever. From that corner appeared a few people, then more, then a crowd, then a mob, then a shear mass of humanity. They washed over him silent in their rage. He was forced to move with them back toward the base or be trampled. What he saw explained everything, these were simple people, below him, who had to take the Confederacy's crap everyday. Some were clearly homeless, and others just plain angry. They weren't ready to just let it get worse.  
  
An involuntary part of the crowd, Pavel returned to the gate where the marines were clearly filled with adrenaline. Their grips on their rifles had tightened and their breathing had sped up. Now the mob began to utter shouts, many were unintelligible, but Pavel could hear "get out" and "go home" among them, and he was frightened. More exosuit clad marines came to the gate, these looking more resolute in their stance.  
  
Soon, a marine in an exosuit with different shades of red and white as well as some gold traces arrived. A speaker had been attached to his suit, "This is Commander Norbert of the Confederate Alpha Squadron. You are to disperse immediately and return to your homes." Many shouts of opposition sprung up and the crowd became more energetic, rattling against the gates. It was clear that this man was becoming nervous, but Pavel did not fully grasp that this was out of concern for the crowd he was in.  
  
Pavel was about to push his way out of the crowd when a single burst of gunfire rang out. He looked back at the gate to see four people lying on the ground, not moving. Rivulets of blood flowed out from under some of them. Pavel was shocked, he had never seen anything like this personally. He was just glad that it didn't happen to him. Then he began to realize that it had. He did not know where it had hit, but the dull ache began to spread throughout his midsection. The pain had been dulled, but so were the rest of his senses. He began to stumble back into the crowd, wide eyed in disbelief. They parted from him, as if touching him would cause them to die too. As the mob entered a complete panic, Pavel could only hear the shouts as if they were far away, in another reality. His vision became a blur, and he took a rasping breath. His jaw hung open now, unable to control the mixture of blood and saliva sliding down his chin. Taking a half step forward, he fell to his hands and knees, staring at the ground as the contents of his mouth added new color to the blur of the cold, hard material.  
  
The crowd was dispersing now, except for some odd men who were pushing people aside in an attempt to enter the mass of fleeing people. The only thing Pavel could feel now was a warmth streaming down his stomach and left leg. Someone tripped over him, and he fell to his side. Someone knelt over him as the blur went dark and the warmth faded.  
  
General Edmund Duke sat in his office on Tarsonis staring at his computer monitor. There was little furniture in the room, but the walls were covered with tactical maps of past battles. Some of which he personally had commanded. Behind him the entire wall was one big window, which was casting the dim orange-pink light of the sunset at a downward slant into the big open room. Otherwise it was quite dark. Duke hadn't noticed as he was too busy reviewing his information and mulling over the situation.  
  
Not long ago he had been in a meeting with some of the higher-ups in the government. The fools, he thought, they had never suspected that telling the Korhalians they were going to impose a stronger government on them would cause a revolt. The Confederates had always been this way, forcing themselves on people. They just didn't understand that you have to slowly assimilate people into your culture if you didn't want a fight.  
  
Even Duke was surprised at how fast it had happened. At first it had been mostly smaller rural areas that were rioting, now it had spread to nearly every corner of the planet. All of the Confederate outposts were still intact, but it was only a matter of time until tensions grew and open fighting broke out. "Looks like they need to be taught some discipline," he muttered to himself in his usual drawl.  
  
"Colonel Burns is here sir," the enlisted man who acted as his secretary notified him through the comm. system.  
  
"Send him on in," he confirmed. One of the dark wooden double doors clicked open and he entered quietly. "Colonel, I've been talking to some very important people, and it looks like we have a situation on our hands," Duke began. Burns just stood listening. Duke gestured to a chair and he sat comfortably. "Seems the Korhalians aren't too agreeable about our plans to keep a closer eye on 'em. They've staged a planetary revolt." Burns' eyebrows went up in subdued surprise. Such a thing was unheard of. Duke went on, "We haven't lost any outposts yet, you understand. They've just been showing their... displeasure.  
  
"So its the possible threat that's got them scared," realized Burns.  
  
"Yep, very scared, and this comes straight from the top, boy. If we take care of this the way they want, fast, violent if necessary, it will look very good for us, very good for us indeed, Simon." Duke added.  
  
Simon Burns nodded. He hated it when Edmund called him "boy". Now that his vision had a chance to adjust to the dark he noticed that the light behind Duke gave the short pudgy man an otherworldly orange aura. When they had first met, both realized that they had the same goal: to obtain as much power as possible. So they helped each other out. Duke gave him the inside track, and he did any special "jobs" Duke needed done. This had allowed Simon to be promoted a great deal faster than most people. Duke had already gone far. Starting as an officer, he received a few promotions for his leadership qualities, and even more once his skills as a tactician were recognized.  
  
Duke was glaring at his computer monitor again, analyzing progress reports as they were coming in. Then he hit a button that ejected a disk and another to instantly shut down the terminal. "We're going," he said, and Burns followed after him confused. They left the office and the waiting room with the secretary. They were going down a long hall, side by side, and everybody made sure to give them space as they passed.  
  
"We're going?" Burns asked.  
  
"The fleet has just finished entering formation. They're waiting on us," Duke informed, oblivious. They burst through a door and exited the Confederate military building, entering a small vehicle to race them to the complex's starport.  
  
"Already?" He asked again.  
  
"I told you they wanted this taken care of as soon as possible. The sooner we're up there, the sooner we can get underway. I can tell why they're so jittery. You see, Korhal is our most vital colony. Not only do we get a lot of our military personnel from there, but we get a damned lot of its production and even some science and technology stuff too," Duke mentioned.  
  
The vehicle stopped and they walked along the permanent spaceship pad, it was much larger than the average spaceport, the pad had been poured over the ground and the tower facilities had been set up nearby. The pad was so immense that there were a few battlecrusers in the back corners undergoing maintenance. Luckily, the General's personal transport was very close.  
  
It was black with the white Alpha Squadron symbol, a blocky "A" and a hawk in delta formation, on the sides. Inside there was smooth varnished wood and black leather seats. There was also a full computer system and a bar. Duke wasn't usually this extravagant, but he had decided to let himself go when it came to this.  
  
Sinking into soft chairs, and buckling up as the ship's engines were warming up, General Duke continued like there had been no interruption, "So what they fear the most is that if the most prosperous and well treated colony is willing to uprise against us and even has the smallest amount of success, then other colonies just might get some of the same fool ideas in their heads."  
  
"So, then. We have to do whatever is necessary to make sure that doesn't happen," Burns reasoned. Duke simply nodded and sunk further into the chair.  
  
The black ship rose from the ground, and began accelerating forward. Then it pointed its nose up and shot into space to meet the waiting fleet.  
  
Reflecting on his time spent on Tarsonis, Angus Mensk realized that he had more or less accomplished nothing. He ran his smooth, clean hands back through his mostly gray hair. Angus had been a strong man in his day, but found himself tiring much more easily lately. His once broad chest had become a little slimer, but if ever he felt pained, he would never show it. Often Angus would find his mind wandering to thoughts of wether his facial wrinkles, mostly around his eyes and forehead, came from the increased amounts of worrying his position as senator gave him these days.  
  
Sitting at a desk in a small room on board a small transport ship bound for Korhal, Angus thought back to his attempts to persuade the senate to not pursue their present course of action. He understood now that they had already made their decision long before announcing it. They had hardly even listened to him.  
  
Now, however, he just wanted to get back to Korhal. He knew that the approximately two day trip was one of the shortest distances between Confederate worlds, but he was impatient anyway.  
  
"This is the captain speaking, we have just dropped out of warp space and are beginning our deceleration. We should reach Augustgrad in a few hours," came a voice over the ship's comm. system.  
  
Finally!, Angus thought. He had a fear in the back of his mind that he would come back to Korhal and there would be nothing left. Pressing a button on the back part of the desk, a screen ascended out of a slot with a key pad on part of it. He entered various codes for which world, region, and city he wanted to connect to. Then he entered his own number. The screen lit up with the image of his wife.  
  
"Angus! You're back. Thank goodness, what's the Confederacy been doing?" She wondered.  
  
"They're going to do it, and I can't do a thing about it," Angus said, shoulders sagging.  
  
"Get back as soon as possible, we all need you here now," she requested as he squinted, not understanding, "Haven't you heard, the entire planet has rioted against the Confederates. Its been scary here, there are bands of angry people roaming about looking for Confederates to attack, and gathering at their gates. There's even been a few bursts of gunfire," she continued.  
  
His eyes widened and his jaw went slightly slack, "The entire planet," he repeated quietly to himself.  
  
"Oh, Arcturus is on the other channel, did you want to talk to him?" She asked.  
  
"Hmm, oh, sure," he blurted, still lost in his thoughts.  
  
"See you soon," she imparted, and switched the signal. The new face was that of a young man with a short neat beard and well combed hair. The twinkle in his eye suggested just a bit of arrogance. Arcturus had left Korhal and everything he knew behind to become a Confederate prospector. He went to whatever godforsaken piece of rock they told him to go to, and he milked every last particle of useful ore out of it. Many of those "rocks", Angus realized, were once the territory of the Kel-Morian Combine before the Confederacy took it in the Guild Wars. Being a prospector also had the side effect of making one quite rich, and Arcturus certainly was that. The room behind Arcturus' image was filled with ornate furnishings, and other luxury items.  
  
"Father," he began, "I can't believe what's happening on Korhal. You have to talk some sense into those people. What the Confederacy wants to do may be the best thing that's ever happened to Korhal. It can finally have a real voice in the government. Those rioters are going to ruin all that," he pleaded.  
  
"You don't fully understand everything that is at work here Arcturus," replied Angus, leaning forward while squirming in his seat, "The Confederates want to do this so they can tighten their grip on us. The new government will be Tarsonian, Korhalians won't have anything to do with it. The people know it. That's why they want to fight."  
  
"But if you don't resist the Confederates, they won't harm you," Arcturus replied with a "its as simple as that" look on his face.  
  
"But they will still oppress us just as they have everybody, and they always will," Angus asserted.  
  
Arcturus sighed, "We never did agree on anything did we?"  
  
"I think that's why you left in the end, but you're still my son," after a moment's passing he asked, "How are things going with you?"  
  
Arcturus frowned, "The site we're on now isn't even big enough to have its own atmosphere, we already lost some workers to an airlock accident, they really are stupid sometimes. Other than that, work is moving along just fine. Anyway, its good to talk to you again, Dad, even if it is an argument," he chuckled.  
  
"Goodbye, son," Angus ended the call and retracted the monitor. He sat back in his chair pondering what he should do once he returned to Korhal.  
  
Outside of and far behind his transport ship, a fleet of battlecrusers with white markings materialized, and they too began to decelerate as they approached Korhal.  
  
He wasn't sure what to make of the light above him, but as his vision cleared Pavel realized that he was in a hospital and not the afterlife. There were a number of other beds around him in the clean white room, and he noticed only the reassuring sounds of his heart monitor beeping, and chatter in the background. All of the beds adjacent to him were vacant. The only door was shut. Pavel attempted to sit up, and immediately quit. Pain shot through his abdomen, and he noticed how sensitive and swollen it was under the bandages wrapped around his midsection. Clearing his head from the euphoria the sudden pain had induced, Pavel found height controls for his bed and used them to slowly angle his head and torso up.  
  
Locating the remote control for one of the room's TV's, he switched it to Korhal Global News, in the middle of a newscast, "...and Confederate officials confirmed passage of the Confederate Korhal Colonial Government amidst a storm of controversy from various senators and colonial leaders, today. Known appointees to the new government include Senator Carol Warren, a long time supporter of increased central control over Confederate colonies. In related news, the so called planetary revolt of Korhal, in response to the passage of the resolution, has escalated into several outbreaks of violence against Confederate outposts around the globe. When asked about how serious the situation was, Confederate officials replied that the incidents were isolated, and what has been construed as rioting is simply organized protest that will be peacefully settled as soon as possible."  
  
Pavel shut off the box before he was overwhelmed, the whole planet, he thought to himself in amazement. Could the Confederacy stop all of Korhal if it turned against them? Pavel's head swiveled toward the door as a few tones emanated from it, and then was pulled open. The most noticeable thing about the man who stepped in was the dark gray stubble on his cheeks and chin. He had cold, dark, brown eyes, and gray streaks through his unruly hair. He looked like a drinker. Not a particularly tall man, but he had enough mass to push around anyone else his size, and probably some bigger than him too. It wasn't all fat either.  
  
"The name's Gaardnar, Benjamin Gaardnar," he added as if he almost forgot.  
  
"Oh, um," Pavel sputtered.  
  
"I'm the guy who hauled your sorry, bullet-riddled carcass here," Gaardnar burst in.  
  
"Oh, thank you," Pavel replied.  
  
"No problem," said Gaardnar with a note of amiability in his voice.  
  
"I thought that you would have been my family coming to see me," Pavel posed.  
  
"They don't even know you're here," replied Benjamin.  
  
"What!" Exclaimed Pavel as he tried to sit bolt upright, but was pressed back down by the pain, a little less now, in his midsection.  
  
"Hate to have to drop this on ya, but when I was bringing you here, the Confederates ID'ed you as part of the rioter crowd, once you're out of the hospital they are going to take you in for some questioning. Probably not the nice kind either. I'd help you and all, but they put a security keypad on the door, and there's a marine guarding it," Benjamin explained in a lowered voice and shrugging.  
  
"But, I didn't have anything to do with that!" Pavel whispered.  
  
"I don't know who the hell you are, but it looks like they've made up their minds, and you don't look like the type that could bust through and take out a marine with your bare hands, especially with your injury, and I'm not stupid enough to try it," asserted Gaardnar.  
  
Pavel tried to think, "If I could get out of this room.."  
  
"Then you might have a chance," Gaardnar admitted, turning to leave, "Anyway, I just wanted to see if you were still alive, good luck buddy."  
  
"Wait, I have a plan."  
  
General Edmund Duke sat in the captain's private lounge onboard the Norad. He had summoned Col. Burns to brief him on the plans for dealing with the Korhalians. Duke left his chair and moved to the windows that surrounded the room. Placing his hand on the rail, he gazed on Korhal, "Things are getin' worse, Simon. There's been a few skirmishes down there. I'm going to be moving a lot. I need to personally inspect and prepare as many Confederate outposts as I can."  
  
"What do you want me to take care of?" Burns inhaled.  
  
"Since I'm gonna be so busy, I can't stay anywhere long. That's why I need you to go to Augustgrad. Take control of the outpost there," advised Duke, pausing and gazing out of the window, then, "I'll give you the paperwork to make it official."  
  
"That's it?" Burns speculated, disappointed.  
  
Duke starred him down for a few seconds, "We can't lose Augustgrad. If that happens, the rioters could become organized rebels, and that would cause a lot of trouble. You have to make sure that doesn't happen, and if possible pacify the rioters. One more thing, keep an eye out for any clues of a non Confederate government. Intelligence says that the Magistrate may have put together a more extensive Korhalian ruling system, and might have been keeping it as his little secret."  
  
"I never knew Korhal was so wary of us," Burns perceived.  
  
Duke nodded, "They've been doing a lot, and its about time for them to be reconciled."  
  
Angus Mensk had been trying to contact people ever since he had returned to the surface. For once he had thought about Arcturus' advice and understood that the path Korhal was on would only lead to ruin. If the rioters couldn't be controlled, then the Confederacy would take steps to make them stop.  
  
He had been hoping that he could contact the Magistrate and convince him to convene a meeting of his secret Korhal government. He tried other people who were involved too, but they were all busy or had disappeared. Finally one of his calls were answered, it was Buller, who served as the defense secretary for Korhal's shadow government.  
  
"Senator," Buller's eyebrows raised, "I'm sorry, but you'll have to make it quick. The Magistrate has been on us to supply him with status reports on the rioters and to find a way to make them stand down."  
  
"I'll be quick then," Angus agreed, "We need to have a "meeting". I want to talk to the Magistrate about a possible solution, and it will be a good chance for everybody to give some input. This is important."  
  
"Everything is important right now," said Buller while staring into space for a moment then addressing him again, "but I'll see what I can do."  
  
"It really is vital that I be heard," Mensk insisted.  
  
Buller just nodded and replied, "Just make sure you don't mention things like "meetings" on the Commsat anymore, OK?" The screen abruptly went dark.  
  
Angus walked out off his study, and saw his fifteen year old son and daughter watching the news in the living room. Too often he realized that he was too old to still have kids under his roof, being just over fifty after all. It didn't seem right for them to have a brother twice their age. Nevertheless, he had twins at thirty five.  
  
"Turn that off," Angus commanded.  
  
"But they're talking about the outpost that was overran by rioters," his blond haired son complained.  
  
"Find something else," Mensk commanded sternly collapsing onto the sofa. He hadn't known about that, but was too tired of listening to it to care. His son began flipping through channels.  
  
"Are we going to be OK?" Asked his daughter.  
  
"It will be fine, darling, I'm doing everything I can to end this," he fell asleep from the jet lag before he could say another word.  
  
One thing Benjamin Gaardnar hated was getting up early, but he felt somewhat responsible for what happened to Pavel. So he entered the hospital as soon as it opened at 7:00, and asked about his status like he had told him.  
  
"I want to check on Pavel Wellington," he submitted.  
  
"And you are?" The nurse fired back.  
  
"His father," Gaardnar lied without the slightest hesitation.  
  
The nurse typed on her terminal, and informed him, "He's stable, looks like they're going to do a quick MRI on him at 8:00."  
  
"What room is that in?" Questioned Benjamin.  
  
"Its off limits to visitors," scolded the nurse.  
  
"Alright, thanks," Ben waited until she glanced down at her desk then walked past her into an inner hallway. He casually walked around until he saw a fairly young man in a white doctor's coat. "What room is your MRI in?" Ben asked abruptly.  
  
"B227 I think, umm, why?" Said the man before he had time to think about the question.  
  
"I have a friend who's getting one," explained Gaardnar.  
  
"Don't worry, these days MRI's only take a little while, if you go to the waiting area, he should be done in no time," he instructed. Ben turned around and left the hospital. B227, so its a basement level room, that's going to make things harder. He could fight his way to the room (as if medical personnel would actually try to stop him), but there was a marine around and he couldn't take on a Gauss rifle with his handgun if he made a scene. He glanced at the car waiting in front of the building, and its driver.  
  
Going around back, he found a deliveries entrance with bits of trash strewn about. There were far too many people that way. He returned to the side alleyway and looked at the fire escape he had noticed on his way to the back. Deciding to try it, Ben crawled up on a trash bin and jumped onto the ladder, pulling it down. The vibrations coursed through him as the iron ladder crashed into the pavement.  
  
Up on the roof of the five story building, the roof access door was locked. The elevator motor room was not. Inside was cinderblock walls and many bars and wheels turning periodically. He noticed the floor was made up of removable panels, and once he had uprooted enough of them, he saw even more of the motor mechanism as well as a ladder running down the wall dangerously close to the motor.  
  
Gaardnar pressed himself against the ladder shimmying down past the motor once it stopped moving, and, two floors down, sat foot on the elevator. Opening the hatch he jumped down to find one old man with an uncertain look in his eyes.  
  
"Emergency maintenance, this elevator's been having some problems, you'll have to get off now," Ben informed, thinking quickly. He pressed the door open button and practically tossed the old man off before he could protest. He hit the B1 button. When the doors began to open on the first floor, he quickly pressed the door close button. A muffled "What the..." squeezed through the door. When the doors opened on the basement floor he pressed the emergency stop button.  
  
Gaardnar was glad that the hospital was an old building or the elevator probably would have had a way to prevent him from going down to the basement floor. There were very few people on this floor and he rushed down the halls at a light jog. His watch told him it was about 8:00. It had taken him quite a while to walk around the hospital and to get to the roof.  
  
He found B227 and instead of opening it, it was opened for him by an MRI tech who happened to be exiting. She took a step back in surprise, and Benjamin smartly decked her right on the forehead. He grabbed her already limp body, and gently laid her on the floor. 'So much for not hitting a lady', he thought.  
  
Inside he saw someone within the center of the cylendrical Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine. "Stay back," he said, "if you come too close, the magnet on this thing will pull you over. Go into the control booth and hit a big red button." Keeping away from the machine Benjamin entered the windowed booth and did so. The deep hum coming from the device ceased. "Find the table extend," he instructed.  
  
The table slowly slid out, and with a little effort Pavel got to his feet. All he had on was a hospital gown which looked ready to fall to the floor. "I knew it would work," he verbally patted himself on the back for the apparent success of his plan.  
  
"Hey you, hands up," ordered an Alpha squadron soldier wearing a gray battle dress uniform with the white Alpha squadron symbol. Pavel dived into the control booth as the soldier fired a couple of bursts while swiveling toward it causing the windows to shatter. Inside, Ben had already crouched to get under the shots.  
  
"He's shooting at us!" Cried Pavel.  
  
"Yep," Benjamin confirmed, flashing him an annoyed look  
  
"Dammit," yelled the soldier, "You almost made me kill you, you know how pissed they'd be with me if I killed you?" He began to step toward the booth with his gun raised across his left shoulder, ready to use the butt of the weapon. "I don't think they'd mind if I beat the shit out of you, though. Tell you what, come out now and I won't beat you quite so much, OK?"  
  
Pavel had been around a few MRI's in his time as a lab tech. Pavel stood up with his hand near the controls. Ben looked up at him like he was the highest level of moron.  
  
"Get out of the booth and on your knees!" ordered the soldier. Pavel pressed a few buttons and after a series of lights turned green the hum returned and the soldier's gun was ripped out of his grasp to clang onto the side of the machine. "Shit!" He remarked. Benjamin noticed this and saw his chance. He ran out of the booth and toward the soldier who put up his fists and forearms to defend himself, but Ben charged into him with his right shoulder, and they both fell to the ground. The handgun in Gaardnar's pocket was attracted by the magnetic field, and he was pulled by it to the MRI.  
  
The soldier got to his feet, and Pavel landed a strong punch to his cheekbone causing him to stagger back a few steps. Pavel held his fist in pain, and, recovering, the soldier buried his own fist in Pavel's bandaged abdomen. Screaming at the top of his lungs he staggered back onto a wall. Ben had slid the gun out of his pocket, and coming up behind the soldier, used his left arm to put him in a choke hold while pummeling him into semiconsciousness with the right.  
  
Dropping him to the ground, he told Pavel to suck it up, and they began jogging down the halls to the elevator. Gaardnar could tell Pavel was hurting with every step he took. They ran past a doctor who had moved to let them pass while staring at them in curiosity. Reaching the elevator, Ben reactivated it, and selected the first floor. Through the closing doors he saw a marine aiming at them from down the hall. Ben pushed himself and Pavel to opposite sides of the chamber. Streams of hypersonic metal spikes that the Gauss rifle used as bullets punched holes through the gleaming metal of the back wall. Then the heavy doors sealed them off like a tourniquet.  
  
Pavel clutched his side, "Where are we going?"  
  
"Right out the front door, "answered Ben. The doors opened, and they began to jog again with Pavel following Gaardnar. Down the hall was another marine, and they took a turn just as he noticed them. They both started to run now, Pavel didn't really care about the pain as much.  
  
"I'll shoot," was the only thing said by the marine. They turned another corner as he made good on his promise, and filled the wall at the end full of holes. After a few more corners they ran through the main waiting room where receptionists and patients stared at them. Then they left the building, and jumped into a waiting car in front.  
  
As the car began moving forward, Pavel curled into a semi fetal position from the pain his wound was causing him. "Thanks Ed, I owe you one," said Ben.  
  
"Don't worry about it, you've helped me out plenty of times," Ed waved off.  
  
"Why did you help me?" Asked Pavel of Ben, through gritted teeth.  
  
"Not quite sure, I guess I felt responsible for you, 'sides I've never been one to stand by and watch somebody get screwed if I can help it," Ben rationalized.  
  
"Anyway, I live at..," started Pavel.  
  
"Whoa, wait a minute, nobody said you're going home. That's the first place they'll look," Ben interrupted.  
  
"But, I.." Pavel tried to break in.  
  
"Just lay back, relax and take a nap or something. We're going to drive around for a while, and make sure nobody's following us," Ben ordered.  
  
"Thanks again, I just keep thinking back to what happened at the military outpost, and I feel so helpless. If I had some way to fight back, now I can't even see my own family," Pavel lamented, rocking back and forth.  
  
"That's why you should always keep a gun on you, I always do. You get a little more comfortable having a gun after serving in the Confederate militia," advised Ben.  
  
"You were a Confederate marine?" Inquired Pavel, the pain starting to subside.  
  
"Most of my friends were too. We all got guns, just gotta know where to look. There's a lot of Korhalians that end up marines, one way or another," Ben informed, nonchalantly.  
  
"Sounds like you could make a little war of your own," Pavel chuckled.  
  
"I suppose so. Never thought of it like that," Ben considered.  
  
"I was expecting General Duke, why'd he send you," was the first thing Commander Norbert spoke to Col. Burns as he stepped off of the drop ship that had delivered him from the Alpha Squadron fleet.  
  
Walking side by side, Burns notified him, "I'm under direct orders from the General." They continued toward the command building in silence.  
  
"And? What orders are these, Colonel?" Asked Norbert, impatiently. They entered the building.  
  
"Perhaps, we should wait until we are in your office," Burns suggested. They took the stairs.  
  
"I want to know, now," was Norbert's reply with a dark look on his face. Burns shrugged and handed him a sealed envelope. They stopped between the flights of stairs while the Commander opened the envelope and processed the contents. His head whipped up, and he glared at Col. Burns. "Follow me," was all he said. They now went much more quickly to the Commander's office. As soon as Col. Burns closed the door behind him, Norbert started, "Where the hell do you think you get the authority to take control of my base?"  
  
"That signed letter," Burns nodded toward it on the desk. Norbert balled up his fists in anger. "I'm not going to take control of the base from you," explained Burns, "I'm just here to make sure things are done the way Alpha Squadron, and General Duke, wants them to be. As long as my orders are obeyed when they are given, I won't get in your way too much, and don't try to pull rank. We're both colonels, Commander."  
  
Norbert realized that being angry wouldn't do anything for him, "If you go back down the stairs, right, and all the way down the hall, you will find your quarters. The keys should be in the room."  
  
"Thank you, Commander," Burns said plainly as he left the room.  
  
Norbert remembered who this Col. Burns was supposed to be now. He always hung around General Duke, leeching off of his position. They had some sort of partnership going, like Burns was Duke's secret policeman or something. Apparently, to cross Burns was to cross Duke too. Cdr. Norbert knew that he didn't want that to happen. Maybe Burns wouldn't give him much trouble, but he guessed that he would.  
  
Benjamin Gaardnar's place was actually fairly tidy for a run down apartment complex. Except for the scattered bottles of hard liquor, and some mysterious stains, it was much better than what Pavel had been expecting.  
  
"Make yourself at home I'll get you some clothes," invited Ben, gesturing toward an old, grayed sofa. Pavel plopped down on it, and was nearly swallowed by the old weakened cushions before pulling himself out and sitting more evenly.  
  
I appreciate you letting me stay here and everything. I wish I could compensate you somehow," Pavel reiterated, "Should I go to work tomorrow?"  
  
"I wouldn't, they'll probably think of that too," Ben advised.  
  
"What do you do for a living anyway?" Pavel questioned.  
  
"I'm a custodian at the mall downtown," Ben answered shamelessly.  
  
"But, with your military experience, you could have a hundred better jobs!" Pavel asserted.  
  
"I've never been one to want to have responsibility, I don't mind the way things are," explained Gaardnar. Possibly to change the subject, Ben walked over to his T.V., one of the few things still in good condition, and switched it on in the middle of something before taking a seat next to Pavel and handing him a T-Shirt and jeans.  
  
"...and that's why rat poison can actually help your baby grow, not kill it!" Informed the television, "Now for a special transmission." The screen displayed the banner of Alpha Squadron that hid an otherwise bare gray wall. A man with a blueish tuft of hair, and blocky head stepped in front of the camera.  
  
"Colonists of Korhal, this is General Edmund Duke, Commander of the Confederate Alpha Squadron. I address you tonight to inform you of our presence. The Alpha Squadron fleet is in orbit over Korhal, interplanetary traffic to and from the planet has been suspended, and any violators will be met with deadly force upon sight. Recent and unprovoked violence against Alpha Squadron's Korhal outposts has forced the Confederacy to send military reinforcements. Due to the scope of this violence, and the unpredictable nature of Korhal's populace, I, General Edmund Duke, under the authority placed in me by the Confederacy, am ordering a state of martial law over the Confederate colony world of Korhal. This means, that for the duration martial law is in effect, I am the sole governor of this colony. All other ruling bodies, such as the Colonial Magistrate, are temporarily dissolved. This action has been taken for the safety of the colonists as well as that of Alpha Squadron. Good evening."  
  
After the speech the news came on, but Ben and Pavel were too surprised to notice it. "Dammit, they're taking advantage of us again," Pavel was the first to talk.  
  
"Doesn't look like anyone is going to stand up to them," concluded Ben.  
  
"I bet you could, Ben," Pavel encouraged hypothetically, "If you know as many men and have access to as many weapons as you say you do. That's all it would take to get started."  
  
"Even if I do, I'm not the organizing type. Maybe you are, but not me," Ben said.  
  
"So if we got together," pondered Pavel.  
  
"Eh, but that's a crazy, suicidal idea," Ben reasoned.  
  
"Yeah, maybe," replied Pavel.  
  
"Maybe." 


	3. Authority Rejected P2

Authority Rejected  
Part 2  
  
Privates Reeman and Laine were good at staying cool under pressure. They had met at the edge of Confederate space when the Kel-Morian combine had been using guerilla tactics and sabotage to try and take back the mining operations the Confederacy had taken from it during the Guild Wars. Their unit had been assigned to one of the smaller camps, and that may have been why it was hit so hard. They came at night and killed the watchmen before they could raise an alert. By the time they had suited up, and repelled the attackers, the unit had been all but wiped out with less than ten people left alive. Command saw the unit as being finished, and in recognition of their sacrifice and bravery, sent them to Korhal. The two privates had become buddies, and were able to get assigned to the same base.  
  
That's why the friends had no problem with the seething waves of people bustling just on the other side of the gates. Only a few metal bars stood between them and a sea of angry rioters. Other Marines were on their way to reinforce them.  
  
"At least it doesn't look like they have guns," mentioned Reeman, his dark brown hair and lumpy face poking out of the top of his exosuit. Laine's intense blue eyes just stared back. Cdr. Norbert was running to the gate without his exosuit, he was more concerned with preventing a massacre. Col. Burns, also without exosuit, was right behind him.  
  
Burns was a tall man, who usually wore a beret, his skin held only the smallest touch of tan. He had a way of holding people in his piercing gaze. If one got close enough, they could see the very beginning of crow's feet starting to appear beside his eyes. His long legs enabled him to easily catch up with Norbert.  
  
"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" Shouted Norbert. The marines acknowledged him, and kept their rifles pointed to the side. "What are you doing here?" Norbert demanded of Burns with a spurt of venom in his voice.  
  
"Part of my reason for being here is to see how these things are handled," Burns imparted with a scowl.  
  
The air split apart with the concussive sound of a pistol going off, and Cdr. Norbert fell to one knee with blood flowing from one leg. He immediately rolled behind Laine and Reeman knowing their exosuits would stop any bullets from such low powered weapons. Col. Burns took a more offensive approach, and, ripping his own well oiled pistol from his holster, targeted the man responsible. Instantly the pistol discharged, causing it to pull his hand back slightly in recoil. The projectile found its mark between the man's throat and jugular, and the wound violently fountained his lifeblood before he disappeared beneath the crowd.  
  
However, this time the crowd did not disperse in terror. From the look of them they were far more organized now. Some wore special pins or held matching signs demanding independence. The next thing Burns saw was many of these same angry people producing their own pistols and shotguns, even a few hunting rifles, and aiming them directly at him. Burns wasn't expecting this. The two privates repositioned themselves between Burns and the rioters, protecting Norbert and Burns with their bulky blunt suits.  
  
A riotous cacophony of gunfire ensued. "Shit," was Laine's only sullen reply through his headset microphone. The multiple bits of hot metal ricocheted off of their suits, but there were a few dents beginning to appear in their armor, and a lucky shot on one of their clear bubble helmets would be all it took.  
  
"Fire!" Burns yelled at the top of his lungs to be heard. That seemed to be all the marines needed. The ten or so marines that had managed to muster so far let loose with their weapons at the enraged mob. The metal spines either went between the bars of the fence, or through them as if they were nonexistent. Some shots made clean holes through their victims, some didn't resulting in large amounts of their bodies being shredded into chunks before dispersing into the space behind them. This had the effect of peeling the crowd away like pieces of an onion skin falling off, as screams and grunts emanated from it.  
  
Now the crowd fled. Already almost 50 people had been ripped apart. They were citizens, not soldiers. Against Gauss rifles they were defenseless. At least the marines ceased fire once the mob turned tail. They were here to defend, not murder after all.  
  
Norbert stood, placing his weight on his one good leg, "What the hell were you doing!" He berated Burns with his teeth gritted.  
  
Burns responded by grasping Norbert's collar and pulled his face with its well defined cheekbones to his. "I'm the one in charge now, you do what I tell you to, I can make you disappear very quickly. Don't forget that," he said in a very low, gruff voice. He then shoved Norbert away, and he fell to the moist green grass below him after his bullet grazed leg gave out. "I'll talk to you two later," After pulling his platinum blond hair to the side, Norbert just stared at Burns as he walked away, with a glowing hate.  
  
Laine and Reeman were quickly relieved of their guard duty and returned to their simple barracks. It was little more than a box with beds and storage trunks, but they had been allowed to put up personal items on the walls, and the beds were softer than most military ones. The walls were actually well insulated and were wood not metal. These were some of the perks of being on Korhal. Entering the equipment area, the two powered down all of their suits' functions, and extracted themselves from the metal casings.  
  
"Smells like farts in there," indicated Reeman of the suit, noticing they were both dripping with sweat after the battle despite the suit's internal cooling systems. This was not an unusual thing.  
  
"Of course it does. After standing in them for hours in the sun, they always do," Laine reasoned.  
  
"I know," was Reeman's only belated reply.  
  
They were about to use the showers, but they were interrupted by someone, "Hey, Col. Burns wants to see you, now." It was said in a way that meant "now" now. The two strode to the exit in their sweat drenched gray and white Alpha Squadron uniforms. They weren't sure what to make of Col. Burns. He was supposed to be taking control of the base, but he hardly said anything to anyone. Though he was tall his physical presence was not commanding, but they heard of what he would do to those who tried to challenge him.  
  
To their surprise, Burns was just outside of the barracks. The privates assumed their proper stance, and saluted. Burns nodded, "Relax, I wanted to personally thank you for what you did at the gate. A lot of people wanted me dead, but you two thought ahead. You're good soldiers, and I can use you.  
  
"Yes, Sir," acknowledged Reeman.  
  
"There is a mission of the highest importance that is about to take place in a few hours. The Magistrate has been taking some liberties behind our backs. The mission is to eliminate the conspiracy against the Confederacy that he has been involved in. I want you to report to me at 17:00 hours regional time at the motor pool. If you perform, and get this done for me, I'll be sure to help you in return," promised Burns.  
  
"Thank you, Sir," responded Laine in turn.  
  
"Good, dismissed," said Burns as he returned to the main building of the base.  
  
It had been about a week and a half since Angus Mengsk had asked Defense Secretary Buller to convene a meeting of the Magistrate's own secret government. He just hoped that they would use his idea of how to help stop the rioters. It had become obvious that time was only increasing their resolve. Angus entered the darkened courthouse building, climbing the white steps with statues of triumphant, noble animals on each railing before entering.  
  
The last rays of sunlight left the main hall in darkness as he walked on its marble floor past the series of columns. Then he quickly made his way through the last smaller halls to the courtroom they had agreed on.  
  
Buller, the Magistrate, and the others stopped talking and looked up at him, from their position in front of the judge's bench, as he entered, "You're late," said the Magistrate, "we were just talking about what to do about the rioter problem. If you know so much about how to put an end to it, then we are eager to hear your solution." Angus detected a subtle tone of sarcasm in his voice. Buller nodded at him, and joined their informal circle. Angus knew this council was critical of him. He was a senator, and that meant he was in close contact with the Confederacy. He knew they didn't trust him completely. Nevertheless, he continued to present his idea.  
  
"The rioters are not going to stop their actions on their own. It has come to the point that we must make them back down before they provoke the Confederates and make things even worse for all of us. I know that the Magistrate has been constructing a secret army to use if the Confederates abandoned us or worse. We need to use them now,"  
  
"What are you talking about?" One of the council members interrupted Mengsk.  
  
"Let him finish," Buller insisted harshly.  
  
Angus glanced at Buller and continued," Not as a force to make war with, but as a police force. We need to keep the rioters away from the Confederates. We can put our own forces between them."  
  
"But then the Confederacy will know of our forces," reminded the Magistrate.  
  
"We don't have the luxury of keeping them secret anymore, we have to act now," Angus pressed.  
  
"Perhaps you're right. We need to discuss this Mengsk. You should go now, and use the back way this time, please," implored the Magistrate. Angus just nodded, not sure how successful he was. He walked toward the exit at the back left of the room.  
  
The doors at the main entrance were smashed open and two marines entered. They greeted the council by hoisting their miniguns to their sides and causing a high pitched whine to fill the room. Their targets just stared at them in sudden horror. The guns bucked as they sprayed the council with an eruption of burning hot lead. As the projectiles lanced through them, their bodies were thrown into grotesque poses before the pile of ragged meat settled to the floor, the blood pool slowly expanding with no end in sight.  
  
"Wow, that was fast," said Laine with his mouth open while the gun barrels stopped spinning.  
  
"Hey, there's another one," Reeman pointed Angus out.  
  
"Wait," yelled Angus covering his face with his hands. He heard the bullets being shot, but no whine from the guns. Removing his hands, he noticed he was still alive, and that the bullets were ricocheting off of the marine's suits. They ducked inside the doorway to take cover. Angus looked at the back exit and saw two men, one smaller and one bigger, firing machine guns at the marines. "Who are you?!" Angus demanded.  
  
"Come on!" They hollered back. Angus remembered the situation and ran into the doorway.  
  
"They don't even have Gauss rifles, just go out there and finish them off!" Laine told Reeman through the suit's com. Reeman nodded.  
  
Pavel saw the two marines step well into the room, and kept firing at them, but the ammo just bounced off of the suits. They hoisted their miniguns up and he could hear the high pitched whine start again. "Uh oh," was all he said. Ben grabbed Pavel and Angus and dragged them inside the doorway as ammunition made bangs and whistles as it sailed through the air to hit the walls and ricocheted off in random directions.  
  
Ben motioned that it was time to go, and Pavel and Angus followed his lead. As the trio ran through the halls they could hear that horrible, certain whine of death in the distance. They came out of the back exit, and dashed into the waiting car. Pavel took the driver's seat, powered up the vehicle's magnetic drive, and made it flee as fast as possible. The marines came out, and fired their weapons at the escaping car just as it turned the corner.  
  
As the reality of their quarry's escape set in, the marines let their death machines calm down. "I guess he got away," said Reeman with mild shame. The marines went back to where they had killed the council, and looked at the pile of flesh that lay there. Almost half the floor was covered in blood, and there were splotches of it on the walls. Reeman stared at the remains. "Wait a minute," directed Reeman," I've seen that face before. That's the Magistrate!"  
  
"What the hell," Laine wondered, sighting it in the carrion, "This is too political. We're soldiers, not assassins. They weren't even armed. Let's get the hell out of here." As the two left out the door they came from, there was a slight stir within the dead mound.  
  
"Simon, good to see you. I've done what I could for the Confederate outposts. I thought I'd check up on you," explained General Duke's wide round face over the monitor.  
  
"You'll be glad to know that the problems with the Magistrate are being taken care of right now, you won't have to worry about any other government leaders, now," assured Burns.  
  
"That's good," agreed Duke, "How's the base holding up?"  
  
"The rioters are getting more organized, but its nothing we can't handle. They can't stand against marines," reported Burns.  
  
"Its going to get worse, Simon, but if we can take care of the leaders, like you have been, then we still might diffuse this situation. Keep it up and we'll pull through. Duke out."  
  
A page buzzed, alerting Burns that Laine and Reeman were waiting for him in one of the lounges. Burns didn't really have an office, but he was used to it. He left the relatively small room he had been quartered in and made for one of the base's small lounges. He always felt a strange feeling at the bottom of his stomach when leaving his room. He knew it was because every time he went out, he might meet up with the unhappy Cdr. Norbert. Burns figured he could beat Norbert in a fight, but he also knew it would never come to that. Norbert would follow orders, Burns was just fed up with having to deal with the animosity, and the fake guilt trip he tried to drop on him. He didn't need people questioning him, no matter what their rank was.  
  
The heavy metal doors to the lounge slid open automatically with hardly a sound. It was for the soldiers and so it was very bland. At best it was an unadorned metal room with one wall of nothing but windows that slightly slanted out as they went down. It also served as the military store, and there was a counter with a very bored looking man behind it who sold provisions to soldiers who had some extra pay to burn.  
  
In the lounge he saw the two with sober looks on their faces. As he approached, they began to stand, but he gave a quick salute and nod before sitting with them. The table they were at was close to the window wall. The view was of the back part of the base, and was mostly of soldier's barracks, if people looked at the right angle they could see a little of the aerofield. It was named such because it accommodated space vessels as well as craft limited to the atmosphere.  
  
"So, it was a success then," assumed Burns. The privates looked at each other.  
  
"Yes, Sir, a success," Laine confirmed.  
  
"You removed everyone there?" Burns asked again. They glanced at each other again.  
  
"Yes, Sir," answered Reeman.  
  
"You've done very well for me, and in return I plan on getting you stationed on Alpha Squadron's fleet marine unit, one of the best."  
  
"We are grateful for everything, Sir, but we have a question," added Laine.  
  
"Go right ahead," invited Burns.  
  
"It's about the mission...well...it seems...not right," Laine stammered.  
  
"We saw the Magistrate," Reeman blurted.  
  
"Ahh," Burns replied, after pausing, "You see it was necessary. He was plotting against us, and in the long run you saved a lot of lives today. Sometimes we have to take these matters into our own hands."  
  
It had begun to rain in the city of Augustgrad. However, that hadn't stopped Angus Mengsk from pushing open the door of the car he was in as soon as it had slowed down, and running from the two strangers who had just saved his life. The vehicle quickly halted, and the two men followed after him. Angus didn't get far running through the back alleys of Augustgrad. The old cheap stone buildings seemed to close in on him, and he found himself at a dead end. He slowed so that he slightly bumped the brick wall ahead, futilely hoping in the back of his mind that it would be enough to topple the wall. The series of recent events had caused his knees to weaken with shock, and he half fell, half sat on a pile of trash bags. He didn't care about the wetness and stink soaking into his clothes.  
  
The two men caught up, and one asked, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He had to yell to be heard over the roar of the sheets of pelting liquid projectiles that were almost drowning them.  
  
"I don't know, I don't know what happened back there," Mengsk yelled back.  
  
The same man assured him, "We're here to help you." Angus held up his hand and the smaller of the two pulled him up. He wanted to be standing when he talked to them. His legs already felt stronger.  
  
"And who are you?" Angus demanded.  
  
"Pavel," answered the first.  
  
"You can call me Ben," informed the shorter one.  
  
"How did you know where I would be?" Mengsk continued his questioning, still yelling while the water that was somewhat acidic from the nearby industrial plants irritated his skin.  
  
Ben answered this time, "You kidding...that information was leaked all over the place. The Confederates probably intercepted your comsat signals. We came to save you."  
  
Pavel continued, "We need your help, you're the only one left who can lead us against the Confederacy."  
  
"Are you crazy?" Mengsk shouted at Pavel, "If we resist them, the Confederacy will destroy us all. Our only hope is to stop the riots before they force the Confederacy's hand!"  
  
Ben spoke as lightning and thunder split the sky apart causing the effect of the surrounding mixture of gas that was Korhal's air to ignite for an instant above the three, "You don't get it, they don't care anymore."  
  
"They just tried to kill you. There is no chance to negotiate, they won't listen to anything you have to say. There is only one way left to live on our world the way we want to, we must fight!" Pavel urged.  
  
Angus understood what he meant. If he had been allowed to keep doing things his own way he would have been dead now, part of that horrible pile of death and decay he had fled from, but it was too much for him. How foolish he had been to use the comsat like that, the way that he had completely failed the people of his world. Still it was too much for him. He couldn't think straight, and he certainly couldn't make any kind of decision now. He could only despair, "There is nothing we can do."  
  
"Its not just us two," Ben argued, "there are a lot of people with us, we're all ready to do what it takes...someone has to."  
  
"I don't know, my mind isn't right, just take me home," Angus told them.  
  
"That may not be a good idea, but we should go, we're out past the new curfew," mentioned Ben.  
  
"I don't give a damn what you think! Take me to my home now!" Mengsk retorted. Ben looked over at Pavel, and he gave Ben the slightest of nods. The three men returned to their waiting vehicle.  
  
General Duke was sitting in the captain's chair aboard the Norad. He always liked to sit in the captain's chair. His will and authority was best expressed here. The main control room of the ship had a few different areas. One had monitors that were constantly displaying different parts of the ship and monitoring its status. Another part was linked to every part of the ship that gave sensory information. Of course in the front center of the room was the Battlecruiser's thruster control station and weapons control, though Duke would commonly override that from his place above and behind it. Sometimes when the ship went into battle, Duke didn't trust anyone else with it and piloted the ship himself. The display in the front of the room showed what was in front of the ship, but also had smaller views from different sides of the Battlecruiser that could be toggled on or off. Right now, however, the screen displayed the tactical overlay of Korhal space. Being that Korhal had no space vessels to fight his fleet with, there were only groups of green symbols surrounding Korhal. The planet was effectively blockaded.  
  
One of the displays on the panel next to his chair lit up, notifying him of an incoming message. Seeing who it was, Duke decided that it was better that he take it in his own rooms. Just down the hall from the bridge was the General's rooms. Again, they were not particularly opulent, just a few basic luxuries befitting a general. There was a nice soft bed in the bedroom that was its own separate room. In his main room was a large comsat monitor on one wall with a plush tan couch opposite. On the other end of the room was a set table with clean polished silverware. Aside from the cooking appliances, the greatest luxury was the refrigerator unit. In it were dishes like roast turkey (the Terran equivalent of turkey), fresh fruits and vegetables, and several components to make a decent sandwich. Most of those serving aboard the Norad had to eat the synthetic stuff from the mess.  
  
Duke stood a few feet from the comsat monitor, and used a remote panel that was sitting on the couch to transfer the call. The blank screen was replaced with the face of the Tarsonian senator, Carol Warren. Her curly brown hair and long face would have seemed very neutral to the General, but now it was starring at him with a very unimpressed and businesslike expression, perhaps even anger.  
  
"Why are you calling me now?" Puzzled Duke.  
  
"Just because you declared martial law, doesn't make you the boss of everything, General," she answered in a clear tone. Duke already had an idea of the way this conversation was going to go. "You were supposed to stop the rioting, not take control of the planet," Warren insisted.  
  
"Well, I'm deeply sorry, senator," Duke said as thick sarcasm mixed with his characteristic drawl, "but sometimes a man has to use his best discretion and do what needs to be done."  
  
Carol didn't seem to like that much, and made no attempt to hide the sour look on her face, "The new Confederate Colonial Government is ready to assume power, and take sovereignty over Korhal. You need to end martial law and let us in." Carol was especially direct with the last sentence. Duke new that Senator Warren was all set to become the new leader of Korhal's government as soon as Duke relinquished control to her. He had just reported the news that Korhal had no domestic government remaining to his superiors just an hour ago, so she must be well connected. He also knew that any attempt to establish a new government on Korhal now would just result in it being wiped out. While the General wouldn't miss Warren, it was still his duty to clear the way for a new government, and Korhal was not prepared. Duke was still angry about that, if he could have ended this conflict fast, he'd have nothing but praise right now. However, it was clear now that this process was going to take time, and so he was receiving a speech from a foolish, pouting senator who he really couldn't care less about.  
  
"Korhal isn't ready for you yet, the danger is still widespread," Duke told her plainly.  
  
"You're just a little man, who believes he has some small measure of power," she informed Edmund.  
  
"The same could be said of you," was Duke's retort.  
  
"You'll be demoted for this Duke!" Warren tried to hide her anger this time, but her eyes betrayed her.  
  
"Well, you go right ahead and do that," advised the General, abruptly cutting the comsat link. Duke knew that those few people who actually did have the power to demote him were far more reasonable than the senator, and that he had nothing to worry about. After laying down the comsat remote, he moved over to his refrigerator and placed some of its contents on the table. He felt like a big fat "turkey" sandwich and some fruit juice. Juice helped balance out his sugar levels, and that always made him feel better. He thought about having a drink a little later on too.  
  
Angus Mengsk had arrived at his house after forcing the two men he had just met to take him. Even on the way they were trying to talk him out of it, taking alternate routes to make the trip as long as possible so they could continue to argue with him. They were afraid that returning would be the death of him, but Angus was stubborn, and after enough shouting they were silenced by him. The two men had promised to find him later. Right now Angus didn't really care, he was just happy to be walking up to the front door of his home.  
  
Everything looked normal, and he could only hope nobody who was uninvited dropped by. Mengsk reached in his pocket to excavate his keycard, and noticed a few spots of dark hardened blood. 'But I was at least 10 feet away,' Angus thought to himself. Instantly the scene replayed itself in his mind; the doors bursting open, the metallic whine gaining intensity, the unnatural way the bodies of those he was just talking to jerking and spasming until they just congealed into one pool. He remembered now that the scene had been so violent that drops of blood had reached every corner of the room. With that thought Angus' body became incredibly fatigued. He was ready to fall to the ground and pass out, but he forced himself to remove the keycard, and extend it toward the slot.  
  
Then, out of one of the tall bushes that stood on either side of the door, a figure clawed its way out, and fell on top of Mengsk. The wave of adrenaline kept Angus from losing consciousness, but he was still dead tired. Mengsk shouted unintelligible gibberish, and attempted to struggle, but his assaulter's weight was pinning his arms to the ground of his doorstep. The dark shape above him made no movement, and Angus collected himself and used the available light from nearby street lamps to see the man's face.  
  
The once brown hair on the head above him was largely gray now, and the hairline was receding. Of what he could see of the face, especially the nose, it was full of pock marks. The chin was almost non-existent, straight down and then a 90 degree angle to the neck. The lips were thin, and his cheeks fat. The man's eyes could only be dimly seen in the shadows, but were obviously directing their burning gaze at Mensk's own.  
  
Now Angus recognized the man, it was Defense Secretary Buller. Angus coughed out the name in a shocked whisper. That seemed to affect the man, who pulled himself off of Mengsk and sat on his rear. Slowly, almost painfully, Angus got to his hands and knees before slowly using his legs to push himself off of the ground. By this time Buller had made it to his knees, and stared up at him.  
  
The light that glanced off of Buller was more now, and to his horror Angus could make out more of the man. Every part of the dumbstruck creature in front of Angus was covered with small chunks of grinded flesh as well as doused in the blood of several men.  
  
Now Buller broke his silence, speaking very low in a cracked voice, "Oh, God, it.. it..was so..," his mouth hung open allowing spittle to mix with the blood, "when they came..and..and..... I knew," Buller seemed to hang on that thought. Angus was too terrified to do anything, and Buller continued with ragged breaths, "I was in the back, I dropped down...but they," Buller just shook his head, "All around.....so much..blood ," Buller started speaking through barred teeth now, "All..fell...on me," tears began to run down his stained face, "in..that....in.............it..............was so cold, warm, but...so coold, oh, God," he turned his face to the ground, the tears streaming off of his face.  
  
The two men stood motionless, unable to do anything. Then Mengsk dropped to his knees and grasped Buller's shoulders. "Buller," he called clearly, "you have to stop this."  
  
"But..I...it....was," came Buller's confused reply. Angus shook Buller so that his head rocked back, then he slapped him, hard. Buller rolled over on to his hands and knees. "Mensk...," Buller said, his voice now more stable. Both men stood and looked at each other. Angus could see the ghost of Buller's ordeal still haunting his eyes, but he seemed to be coherent.  
  
"Are you going to be all right?" Mengsk asked with concern. Buller looked away, he seemed to have trouble saying anything more. "Its all right," Angus informed solemnly. He picked his card off of the ground, and slid it through the door's sensor. He realized, after entering, that the doorknob and his keycard now had blood on them from his hands that had touched Buller. "You had better strip down before entering," advised Mengsk.  
  
Buller stripped to his underwear quickly. Angus showed him to an upstairs bathroom, and Buller knew the rest. Luckily, Angus saw no trace of blood on the carpet. Returning to the kitchen, he washed his hands, the keycard, and the doorknob. Using a paper towel, he bundled Buller's clothes and took them to the backyard where he placed them on the patio, emptied the pockets, dumped some of his whiskey on them, and dropped a lit match, promptly burning them. Mengsk knew nobody would ever want to have anything to do with those clothes again.  
  
After scattering the ashes, Angus made it back up to the second floor bathroom door just in time to intercept his wife. "What are you doing, Angus, who's in the shower?" she inquired.  
  
"It's Buller, let me explain," Mengsk held his hands up to stop her from interrupting him, "he had a little problem, and he just needs to stay here for the rest of the night."  
  
"Its almost two in the morning, what happened?" His wife asked, concerned.  
  
"The "meeting" held me up a little while longer then I had planned," Mengsk explained while he walked his spouse back to the bedroom.  
  
"He was making banging noises in there, that's why I woke up," she told him.  
  
"It would really be better if you waited 'til tomorrow before we talked," he advised, looking into her eyes.  
  
She sighed, entering the bedroom, "All right, dear." Going to his bottom dresser door, he pulled out a pair of clothes. His wife looked at him strangely.  
  
"Tomorrow," he promised her. Back at the bathroom door, Mengsk heard the water no longer running. He knocked on the door, which was opened a crack in response. Mengsk jammed the clothes through the crack, and felt them be taken.  
  
Buller had taken a long shower. It had felt good to wash the gore from his skin, but as the hot water wash the physical memories of his ordeal from him, he continued to relive it in his mind's eye.  
  
The doors slammed open violently, and all faces turned toward it. Nobody knew what to make of the two marines standing in the doorway, but once Buller saw the mini guns they were carrying from his position behind the other council members, he knew why they were there. He was the only one to fall onto his back as the bullets flew. Their blood and visceral matter splattered on every part of him like the water of the shower was now. Buller leaned on one side of the stall and pounded on it in anguish, remembering how the torn rags of what was once men all fell toward and onto him, flooding him with their contents. Buller knew it was death to move, nor could he. His body was petrified by the icy, penetrating cold of death, and at the same time it was warmed by the hot life fluids of some of his closest confidants, now no more. In that place time seemed to take on a different meaning, for it seemed like an eternity that he lay there.  
  
Then Buller returned to reality. He finished his shower, and took the new pair of clothes Mengsk passed him through the door. He put on the green sweater and gray sweat pants. He realized that these were probably the only clothes that Angus had that fit him as he was large in the gut and the clothes were just elastic enough to fit him properly.  
  
Buller found Angus back down in the kitchen/dining room area. He took a seat next to Mengsk. Two ice-filled glasses lay on the well- varnished wood of the table in front of them. As soon as Buller sat, Angus filled both with some of the whiskey he had used on Buller's clothes. They each knocked back a stiff gulp of the stuff, and it helped to dull the anxiety of the maddeningly silent house.  
  
Angus broke that silence first, "How do you feel."  
  
"I'll be all right," whispered Buller. Angus was concerned for Buller. He was normally an outspoken and opinionated man, now he responded in a nearly inaudible whisper.  
  
"You're a lucky man," Angus encouraged, taking another sip.  
  
"Am I," was all Buller said staring at his glass. Angus wanted to let Buller be, but there were too many things on his mind.  
  
"Maybe there is still some way we can stop the rioters," Mengsk posed. Buller slowly brought his gaze up to Mengsk's level, staring right though him, like he had no focus.  
  
"Are you a complete retard?" Buller posed in the same patient whisper, "They just killed us all, you think its time to negotiate? In case the two miniguns weren't enough to clue you in, then let me tell you," his voice was beginning to crack out of the whisper, "You being a senator doesn't mean jack shit anymore. They will find anyone who opposes them, and murder them. Then they will make every last grain of soil of this planet theirs. There is no more reasoning, only two things left, they die or we die, and it doesn't look like they are going anywhere for a while." Buller's voice had returned, but was still strangely quiet. This time he emptied his glass. Angus refilled it, finishing off the bottle.  
  
"I know," Mengsk announced, resting his forehead on his hand, "I just didn't want to admit it to myself, but there's nothing to be done. They're all gone."  
  
"You mean the army," Buller specified.  
  
"Them too," nodded Mengsk, "The two men who rescued me said they were part of a group ready to fight, but they...,"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I would have been killed too, but two men put down enough suppressing fire for us to escape, they came from nowhere, and said they would contact me again. Said they needed me to lead them against the Confederacy. I didn't know what to think, but they couldn't stand against fully armored marines anyway," explained Angus.  
  
Buller's interest perked up, "I don't know anything about the Magistrate's secret army, but... I do know where everything necessary to equip them was kept." Now it was Angus' turn to stare.  
  
General Duke sat in his command seat in the control center of the Norad watching one of Korhal's news stations. Duke liked to keep up on what information the Kohalians found out. He knew most of it from far superior intelligence reports, but he liked to avoid any possible surprises that could result from the enemy (or in this case potential enemy) knowing something it shouldn't, sometimes he could pick out good strategic information from media leaks as well. For once this tactic actually paid off, he listened to the news story.  
  
"A gruesome scene was found this morning in the Augustgrad courthouse building. Several mangled corpses were identified, including that of Korhal's own magistrate, who had uncannily gone missing last night. The killers have not been found, and nobody is sure who would have wanted to commit this act. Spent munitions found at the scene were conventional bullets which would suggest no Confederate involvement...," Duke shut off the display and retracted it into the panel beside his chair.  
  
'Simon is getting sloppy' the General thought to himself. He was glad that Burns didn't make it too obvious, but he had expected there would be no trace. Usually Burns was clean about these sorts of things.  
  
However, now was not the time to worry about that as the tactical overlay alerted and beeped a change in the situation. A new dot appeared that had just entered space from the planet's surface. The dot was yellow, signifying that its threat potential was unknown.  
  
"Give me TacCom," Duke ordered sensory control. TacCom, or Tactical Communications, was in charge of keeping every part of the fleet's communication structure connected at all times so that orders could keep flowing, and the command structure remained intact. When cruisers talked to each other or a base, they went through TacCom, which was itself based on Duke's own battlecruiser. It wasn't that bases and cruisers couldn't talk to each other on their own, it was just protocol to have all communication going through a central hub. A communication not using TacCom was frowned on because it suggested that the message was trying to hide information from command. Duke could court-martial anyone who tried to do so. TacCom was far too big to fit in the control center, and had its own complex in another part of the ship. TacCom's other function was to monitor the tactical situation and keep it accurate to the minute. Usually transmissions automatically went through TacCom, but they also had all available tactical information. That's why Duke asked to speak with them.  
  
"Sir," said one of the sensor techs to let Duke know that he was connected via the ship's com network to TacCom.  
  
"What's the status with the UFO, TacCom?" Asked Duke.  
  
"We think its one of the dropships that we lost from the outpost that was taken by the rebels," TacCom informed.  
  
"Hmmm, let me try to get though to it, transmit visual too," asserted Duke.  
  
"Affirmative, transmitting," alerted TacCom.  
  
"Unidentified dropship, this is General Edmund Duke, commander of Alpha Squadron, respond immediately or be destroyed in five seconds," the pilot glanced back at Duke who nodded at him. He targeted the ship which was flying in a direct line toward the Norad.  
  
That caused the pilot to respond, and the now blank screen was replaced with the image of a middle aged man with bloodshot eyes and wild hair, "So you're the dog they sent to make sure we acted like good little boys, but you don't get it, this time you are going to lose."  
  
Duke was unimpressed, "Power down all of you systems, now, or you will be the one losing."  
  
The man smiled, "You really don't get it, ha ha ha ha hahhahahahahaha." Duke's expression went slack. He fell for it, and had let himself be distracted long enough. Sitting down, Duke terminated the com signal, and brought up the tactical overlay. The dropship's yellow dot was on a collision course for the Norad.  
  
"Get me TacCom, again," Duke commanded, "TacCom, the dropship is a threat, tell all cruisers to fire upon it." The dot changed from yellow to red, but no other ships were firing on it, it was too close to the Norad. The Norad's pilot tried to shoot it down, but the large laser beams were unable to lance it, the ship was within the Norad's area of fire.  
  
The General saw all of this, and wasted no time. He ran to the door, hit the key pad to make the door slide open, and dashed away down the hall. The crew looked toward the door wondering why he was so scared, a collision from a dropship would not do much more then scar a battlecruiser. Duke continued running down the corridor that led from the control room embedded in the center of the ship's head to the neck of the ship.  
  
The dropship sped toward the center of the Norad's head, and impacted with it, but instead of the dropship crumpling into pieces and floating off into space, it detonated in a small orb of heat. Duke could feel a small shudder move down the neck portion of the cruiser, but that was all. After realizing that the immediate danger was over, Duke stopped his sprinting, and looked about him. Some of the people that were walking down the main corridor of the neck section wondered what the shake was, but they were far more disturbed by the sight of Duke running like a rabbit. The short man simply glanced around, then continued his way down the hall. The distance between the head of the cruiser and the main body was about a mile, and by the time he reached the end, he could feel that mile. Duke found a secondary hub here. Secondary hubs were satellites of the ship's primary one. It contained all of the information and functions of the primary, but had less processing power. The secondaries existed so that if the primary was destroyed, the ship would still be able to function. The hub station was about the size of the ship's command center, but was surrounded by heavily tinted glass.  
  
"General!" The head tech officer saluted him. All of the other techs followed suit.  
The General returned the salute, "We've suffered some damage, can you bring up a damage report for me."  
  
"Right away, sir," replied the officer showing Duke to one of the larger terminals. A schematic of the ship appeared, and was adjusted to show a small chunk of the ship had disappeared. "Some of the front center of the front quarter is gone," noted the tech, impressed, "What did that?" Duke remained silent. "That's where the restricted area of the ship is located," the tech officer added, "I'd give you a visual, but we don't have any cameras there."  
  
Duke knew what was there, but very few others did. A while ago he had volunteered the Norad to be retrofitted with a prototype of a top secret project known only as "Yamato". The suicide bomber who hit the Norad couldn't of known this, but because it was still a very early prototype, and one that was experimenting with large amounts of weapons grade nuclear material, it was very unstable. Duke had been afraid that the bomber was going to get a bigger bang than expected, and that he was as good as dead. There was one thing he knew for sure though, it could go critical at any time.  
  
Duke left the hub station without another word, and began moving toward the center bottom of the main section of the ship. The General remembered hearing that when the Battlecruiser idea was still on the drawing board, the idea of adding in enough escape pods was proposed. Upon further inspection the idea was found to be impossible to be implemented. The amount of pods, and the space they would require, would make the Battlecruiser idea worthless. Instead it was decided to have a few larger lifeboat ships in the ship's small docking bay, but Duke, and any officer in the higher echelons of the Confederate armed forces knew they were not large enough to house all of the ship's crew. If a battlecruiser was going to be destroyed, there was going to be a substantial loss of life. Duke entered a lift, and started it descending to the bottom level of the ship. Duke's personal shuttle was also in the docking bay.  
  
Stepping out of the lift, Duke couldn't help but notice the people that he was passing. Some gave him solutes while others were too busy to notice. They were all likely to die soon, and even though the ship's status station would be on damage control it would have no idea what was going to happen. Duke entered the bay, and jogged to his shuttle. There were a few other smaller shuttles, and the lifeboats were in the back. They were put to shame by Duke's impressive craft. He entered the cockpit, and warmed up the systems. The engines whirred to life. Duke got on the comsat to docking control and requested to leave which he received instantly. The hover thrusters engaged, and the landing struts were retracted after lifting off. The deck below retracted, and the General cut the hover causing the shuttle to drop out of the battlecruiser and into free space. There was a lurch as the artificial gravity was adjusted, and he was away.  
  
Duke looked at the com panel, and after a moment realized that even he had limits, and entered in his code to raise TacCom, "TacCom, this is Duke, tell the Norad's crew to evacuate ship, you had better do the same."  
  
"But Sir, there's no emergency, the damage is minimal and..,"  
  
"I said do it, and don't you argue with me, boy!" he glared.  
  
As Duke's shuttle hurtled off, with the Norad behind, his prediction came true. In the damaged restricted section the magnetic fields and firing mechanisms went haywire. From the damaged head of the Norad appeared a point of light, then space became white. In that moment half of the cruiser was vaporized, the other half, the main section, was hurtled away at from the blast at a speed it could have never attained with its own propulsion. As the light dimmed the section could be seen barreling through the void. Its front half had been stripped and melted away, and the protruding wings were gone. It was as if it were a hunk of rock that had been eroded into a smooth rounded surface by a stream, but had only taken a moment to occur. Of the parts of the ship that did survive, there was no doubt that anyone in them had been either baked or more likely irradiated to death.  
  
Duke knew that it would take a while to restore command, but what he now knew was that he had underestimated the situation. The destruction of his ship was accidental, and would be difficult to cover up, but the attack was not, and had surprised Duke. There would be no quick fix, and most likely the rioters would become organized rebels. This was going to become a nasty conflict. Nasty, because the rebels didn't stand a chance, but they would have to be slaughtered before they understood their place. Command would not be happy with him, but would understand the necessity. This time, everybody was going to lose. 


	4. Authority Rejected P3

Authority Rejected  
  
Part 3  
  
The room was pitch black. This was because it was underground, and there were no windows. The dark, stagnant air was stirred into streams and currents by a strong reverberation which soon died away as all returned to stillness. Concussive sounds struck, and then a squeal as large metal door pins retracted, rubbing against steel. A grating noise ran along the reinforced walls as the massive door of the vault-like expanse was pulled open by well greased gears above and below the stubborn barrier. Intense sunlight spilled in, but even that was only enough to illuminate a meter into the room, exposing gray flooring with embossed crosses to provide traction.  
Four men were silhouetted by the light, and distorted by the heat that rose from the desert behind them. The terrain in the area was all the same, and not even worth describing. Just dry cracked soil, and no shade, except for the long rock hill that concealed the vault.  
"Nice place to hide this, Buller," Ben said, "I'd take a piss right now if I thought it would make something grow out here." The others ignored him and they all entered. They were glad to get out of the direct sunlight, but inside the air was stifling and moist. Pavel gulped as he breathed, as if he was drinking the air as well.  
"Is it really necessary to put all this rock over the entrances? I mean we actually had to blast just to get to the door," Pavel complained. Pavel would have seen Buller's sullen stare of annoyance, but it was still too dark.  
"Gaardnar, go out and blow those charges on the cargo exits, I'll find the controls, and get everything up and running," Buller ordered.  
"Where did you learn to handle explosives, Ben?" Pavel asked.  
"You pick up a few things in the Confederate army," Ben replied.  
"You know I'm starting to get really tired of your whining, Wellington," Buller said, allowing his anger to show.  
"I'm not whining," Pavel objected.  
"Gaardnar, you put up with this?" Buller asked, but Ben had already left to detonate the explosives on the other side of the hill. Buller figured that Ben had already left and mentally shrugged to himself before he snapped his nine volt flashlight on. A railing appeared and the light seemed to intensify the surrounding darkness. The light was directed on Pavel's face blinding him before he turned his head away. "You need to learn to keep your trap shut," Buller said.  
"Knock it off you two, and be useful. We've got work to do," Angus cut in with deep commanding tone, silencing the others.  
Buller blinded Pavel again, "You just park it there while I'm gone," he said before walking along the railing and vanished within the blackness.  
Pavel took a single step to spite Buller, then spoke to Mengsk while rubbing his overloaded eyes, "What's with him anyway?"  
"He's had a bad experience," Angus explained, refering to the night at the courthouse nonspecifically since he knew Buller would prefer no one to know," but he's always been like that. We wouldn't have known about this place or been able to enter it without him." Angus stared out into the darkness a moment, thinking, before he continued, "What's your story anyway? Haven't had the chance to ask you."  
"Oh, well I was just a regular guy, before the Confederates shot me up, and almost got me for questioning. Then I fell in with Ben. We realized that we all needed you," Pavel said, activating his own flashlight to scan the room, and finding nothing.  
"He's a good man, as long as you help him out he'll stick with you. Remember that," Angus said.  
"I will," promised Pavel.  
"I don't know why you think I'm so great," Mengsk said and shook his head idly.  
Pavel looked directly at Mengsk as he talked to him, "People trust you, your a real Korhalian Senator, not a Confederate appointee. They will follow your voice, if you raise it high enough."  
"It just took me awhile before the truth, that they don't give a shit about us, hit me, now all of us and our families are in danger," admitted Angus.  
"I wish I could see mine again, but I'm afraid it would put them in danger," said Pavel.  
"You should," insisted Angus. "You need to be there for them, you need to take them with you, and protect them."  
  
Buller had made his way down to a corner and turned right before continuing to where the wall jutted out and the catwalk swerved to the right before continuing. He stopped at the outcropping, and entered a keycode into a pad next to a heavy door in the wall. He was surprised by the shake that followed. 'Must be Gaardnar, at least someone around here is useful', he thought to himself. The door had already slid open, and he entered the moderately sized room, shining his flashlight around in an attempt to orient himself.  
He stumbled past a few chairs on his way to the other end that he had passed over with his flashlight. To his left, in the unpierced artificial night, was a large long table with benches for use by workers, technicians, or guards for breaks. The far wall had an identical door, but just to the right of it lay a power box with a lever next to it. Buller seized it, and gave a good downward jerk. This caused the indicators in the panels to his right to light up. It was now apparent that the wall above and in front of the control panels was actually a window to the void still outside the control room.  
He deactivated the flashlight, placed it on the floor against the wall and felt his way to a simple plastic chair. There was now illumination in the room, but the only light was that emanating from the panels, and it made Buller feel like he was alone in the universe. It was enough for him to make out the controls, however, and he flicked a series of switches.  
  
Several sets of canned lights directly above and off in the distance became visible to Pavel and Angus, but they were just warming up, and only the lights themselves were visible, hanging in space. The rest was still darkness.  
"What do you mean when you say that you sounded like your son?" Pavel asked, continuing their conversation.  
Standing next to the rail, Angus began to explain as a box of light appeared far off in the dark, "My son Arcturus is a Confederate prospector, he left Korhal a long time ago. Needless to say he is much more supportive of the Confederacy than I. The way I was acting, trying to protect the Confederacy from us almost, well, I felt like it was something Arcturus might try to do." Pavel just nodded as Ben rejoined them.  
Ben asked the others, "Hey, has Buller got everything taken care of here? We're ready to move, outside." They noticed a change in the air, there was a fragile breeze now. The lights were also gaining strength. They could make out a lower level that dropped from their height just after the safety rail. There seemed to be rows of something that gleamed at them like incredibly large brutish metal men. The box of bright light was from an enclosed room about half a mile away along the left wall of the vault.  
"This place is bigger than I thought!" Pavel exclaimed with his eyes wide in wonder.  
"That must be where Buller is. Let's take a look," Angus said.  
  
In the vault's control center Buller was still looking at digital read-outs and pressing buttons as the others joined him. "About time you got here," he said, "got ventilation and AC on. So what do ya think of the stockpile?"  
"What?" Pavel asked, puzzled by the question.  
"Look out there you idiot," Buller said, pointing out of the window. The vault was now fully lit, and was a mile long, and about an eighth as wide. However, on each side of the expanse were countless rows of CMC- 300/400 Powered Combat Suits and racks of 8mm C-14 "Impaler" Gauss Rifles.  
"And there's three more floors of this stuff below," Buller said. There was indeed a cargo elevator just under the entrance to the vault.  
"This is good," said Pavel in understatment with a bemused expression on his face.  
"Its not right, the Magistrate should be here with us now," Buller, said, mouning for the man.  
"I know," Mengsk said, "but you can't think about that now."  
"You need to open the cargo doors," Ben reminded Buller.  
"Oh, yeah, sorry," Buller said, and he entered a few key commands, and eight large doors on the end opposite of the cargo elevator began to rise. Immediately, trucks backed into the openings and men poured out. "That's it, everything is running now," Buller told them.  
Ben exited to the catwalk in front of the control room and addressed his commrades, who were waiting for orders, "All right guys, start loading it up, the sooner we move it, the sooner we can use it." The crews started to work murmuring about the new toys they were getting.  
"Why did the Magistrate go to all this trouble," asked Mengsk.  
"The possibility that the Confederacy could turn on us was considered, but the real reason is that we wanted Korhal to be able to defend itself if the Confederacy abandoned us to a stronger foe," answered Buller. "How many of these things are you gonna use?"  
"A lot," Ben said quickly.  
"About four or five hundred," said Pavel.  
Angus then spoke up, "We're taking them all."  
"What!?" Was all Buller could say as he stared at Mengsk.  
"If we are successful here in Augustgrad, then other groups around Korhal will join us, it will be the beginning of the end," said Mengsk, calmly staring at the men as they worked. "They'll need this equipment too. If we're going to fight the Confederacy then we have to go all the way, we have to free all of Korhal."  
Buller thought a moment, and then said, "There's electrical lifters that can move a few suits at a time, it should help speed things up, but still...,"  
"Its going to take a while to move all of this stuff," added Pavel.  
  
General Edmund Duke had relocated to the Freidricksburg after the complete destruction of his flagship, the Norad. The cruiser's communications center was being equipped to become the new TacCom for Alpha Squadron. A corner of the complex had been hastily walled off with excess sheet metal, and a simple stainless steel desk and chair was provided. Duke had to go out to TacCom to use any computers.  
He had heard that one of the lifeboats had managed to leave the Norad before the colossal blast. After its recovery, however, the sight inside after decontamination was not pleasant. It had looked like a bunch of sleeping zombies, but they weren't going to be reanimated anytime soon. The radiation had killed them all, and their last hours of suffering must have been excruciating. It had also caused their bodies to decay at an accelerated rate. The stink had been truly amazing in its power. Duke knew casualties were a fact of military life, but he still felt badly. They were still his boys, and he didn't like it when good soldiers were wasted in such pointless ways. Add the fact that the attack had targeted him, and it was no surprise that Edmund felt personally insulted.  
Only Duke and some of the higher ups had any clue that the nuclear detonation was an accident merely set off by the attack. So all the news stations were screaming about how the rebels have nuclear weapons now. The many militant groups that had cropped up were becoming bolder after the news, even after the small outpost that had been lost was retaken. Command was pissed at him, he had failed at preventing this situation. They had said that his performance was unsatisfactory, and nothing else. That was bad, and it was making Duke very nervous. Sometimes, when he thought about the situation, he'd find his index finger tapping his piece of shit desk before stopping it. Duke didn't know what they were going to do, but it would be something, and he probably wouldn't like it.  
  
Though it would likely take days to move all of the equipment in the vault, the first truck full was all that was necessary to begin Mengsk's first mission. This mission was to capture the largest broadcast center in Augustgrad. The media building was in a sparsely populated commercial sector of the city. The building itself was at least twenty stories high with tinted windows surrounded by granite. On top was a series of satellite dishes, which would be able to send signals to a majority of Korhal's communication satellites.  
Pavel and Angus knew that it would be protected by Confederate troops, but they had come prepared. There was nobody outside of the building, so it was easy to pull their semi up to the front of it. While Angus and Mengsk dropped out of the cab, Ben exited the back with twenty five of his men all clad in powered armor with a red color scheme. Buller was back at the vault directing the equipment transport.  
Ben activated the suit's external speaker, "Sure feels strange to be in one of these again. All right, the plan is to go in the front, and take out any resistance. Then we get you up to make your little speech, and then we're gone. We'll make sure its clear before you enter."  
Ben ordered his squad into position. The scene of heavily armored men standing in front of the aesthetic wood and glass doors with the station's logo in them was almost comical as they slid open, but right now the fighters had other things on their minds. They scanned the lobby. At the opposite end was a large booth where the station receptionist sat. Her mouth hung open in amazement and fear. Elevators were on either side of the booth, and each had a security officer in front of it. Ben leveled his weapon and fired at one, someone else took the other. Both unarmored men dropped almost instantly. A man next to Ben brought up his gleaming gun to take care of the receptionist, but Ben pushed it away, raising his voice over the suit com, "No, she's not a threat."  
However, Ben was wrong. The receptionist's mouth snapped shut, and before fleeing to the stairwell, she pressed the silent alarm. About ten seconds later, the Confederate marines entered from side doors.  
"Heads up!" Ben shouted.  
The lobby had precious little cover, only a few couches, and those wouldn't stop rounds from an "Impaler". The men were forced to stand their ground against the twenty or so Marines that had formed a line against them. The space exploded with the echoes of gunfire. The Gauss rifles could fire short bursts, but because of the capacitor employed by the rail guns to minimize energy consumption, they had to be allowed to recharge for a couple of seconds before the next burst.  
Ben felt a couple of rounds graze the side of his suit, causing very little damage. He saw the offending marine, and took him down with a few well placed bursts. "I guess the reflexes don't forget," said Ben to himself in the bubble helmet.  
Shots traveled around the room punching through the drywall, and sending white dust all over. Some even shattered the doors causing Angus and Pavel to run behind the walls outside for cover. The dust filled the room with blinding white, and the sounds of gunfire died away. The dust began to settle showing only the fallen marines on the other side of the room, the rest had dissapeared. Ben used his suit com to call in Mengsk and Pavel, who were now wearing headsets with microphones to stay in contact. The suit coms had a limited range, however.  
Angus was the first to speak while staring down at the seven losses they took, and the ten of the enemy, "So it begins," he proclaimed in a gruff voice.  
"Is this everything they had?" Pavel asked.  
"No, twice that," Ben said.  
"Why did they retreat so fast?" Pavel asked, unsure of the enemy's reasons.  
"Ben, you need to take your team, and go to the roof. If they can't stop us, then they might try to destroy the dishes there. Don't let that happen," ordered Angus.  
"What about you?" Expressed Ben in concern.  
"We'll be fine, they wouldn't have anyone in the studios. We don't have time to make a complete sweep anyway. Just make sure you protect the equipment," reiterated Mengsk.  
"On it, Chief," Ben acknowledged.  
Ben informed his squad that they we're taking the stairs to the roof. When someone asked him about using the elevator he pointed out that their suits were far too heavy for the elevators to handle them. "Don't worry guys, we got them on the run," Ben reassured some of the men who were looking at the seven casualties.  
One of them replied, "But they got Gary, and Tom, and Eric, and..."  
"You knew it was going to be like this, it doesn't mean we can stop," said Ben. The fighters had to duck down and turn sideways to get into stairwell, but soon Pavel and Angus were alone in the room. Pavel hustled behind the booth and began looking though files on the computers there. Angus stood on the other side rhythmically knocking his fist on the desktop. They both knew that there was not much time. Soon the fist of the Confederacy and of Alpha Squadron would fall upon them, and then little hope would remain.  
"Main studio is on the fifteenth floor," confirmed Pavel.  
Mengsk had already called the elevator, and the ride up was luckily uneventful. Up on the fifteenth floor the news broadcast was on air. Pavel and Angus made their way past the cameras and wires to the monitoring room.  
The producer noticed them first, "Who the....Senator Mengsk?!"  
"I need to broadcast, now," ordered Mengsk.  
"Sure, we can do that, sir," He was perfectly willing to air an exclusive speech from the Senator.  
"We need to be on every station possible," added Pavel quickly.  
"We can't do that," He insisted.  
Angus produced a pistol and held it at his side, "We need to be on every station possible."  
"We may be able to do that," relented the producer.  
  
Going up stairs in powered armor could be tricky. Not all of the suit's foot could fit on the step, and it required some balance. Ben's squad could hear the Confederates above them, it was clear that they were heading to the roof. The day was hot on the roof and the twenty floor climb had caused their body temperatures to heat up the insides of their suits before the internal cooling system kicked in. After the tedious ascent, with a couple men nearly falling down, they came to the roof where the marines were wiring up the satelight dishes with explosives. Ben's squad opened fire, and dropped three of the Confederates before they took cover and returned fire.  
"Get down, we almost got 'em," Ben shouted his encouragement over the racket.  
Five of the squad fell before the rest dodged behind metal boxes holding utility systems for the building. Ben leaned out fired of a burst at the enemy, and pulled back as the crossfire ate deep into his cover and chewed up the aluminum. 'Damn' thought Ben. He had just lost five guys in a few seconds. He now understood that their earlier luck had been from them having the advantage of surprise, but his men needed to be trained or retrained. They could not possibly match up to Confederate marines in their current state. Another of his men fell with his chest armor a mess of jagged plating and blood. Ben smacked the armor of the two men closest to him, "You two, we're going to flank the Confederates. Everybody else, lay down some suppressing fire."  
There was a crescendo as ten of the squad fired a series of bursts in tandem forcing the seven remaining marines to take cover. The three ran to cover between and to the side of the Confederate's position. They continued moving up amid sporadic bursts of fire concussing through the air. Ben gave the signal, and they emerged. The enemy realized they had been flanked too late. Ben had clear shots of all seven Alpha Squadron marines. Two fell immediately. At that moment several dishes began to rotate to random angles. Ben's comrade on his right fell, and Ben grunted as the hypersonic spikes impacted the upper left of his chest armor leaving deep rends, and taking his breath away. Of the five remaining marines four tried to take cover from Ben, but were shot to ribbons by the fighters they had been hiding from. The last tried to run to new cover, but was stopped by fire from behind as he ran.  
"Clear!" Yelled Ben to the team, still on his knees from the hit he took. They stepped out, and took a while to rest. The others helped Ben up after a few minutes. There were now eleven men left. Ben could see a ship in the distance. It had an oval cross-section, and was elongated, like a flattened straw, but with curved ends. It was a Confederate gunship. As the name suggested, the ship was outfitted with several laser cannons. "Mengsk, come in," requested Ben.  
"Pavel here."  
"Where's Mengsk?"  
"He's about to broadcast, you alright? You sound hurt," Pavel asked.  
"I'm fine, but you'd better be fast, we've got a gunship incoming. Give me your location, and we'll find you."  
"You gotta be kidding me!" Exclaimed Pavel. "We're on the fifteenth floor."  
Pavel was in the monitoring booth where the crew had maxed out the signal strength, and pointed the dishes to transmit to as many satelights has possible. Pavel gave Angus the OK sign through the windows, and the camera men gave him the count to air time.  
Around the planet, television signals were interrupted, and replaced with the image of Angus. He sat straight, with a sober and direct look on his face. Then he made his address to all of Korhal, "Citizens of Korhal, this is Senator Angus Mengsk. The Confederacy may have told you that I am dead, but I assure you that I am alive. I come before you to speak the truth, that the Confederacy will not cease its efforts to subdue our people until they rule over every facet of our society. It is the Confederacy who draft our children into their military against our will, who everyday kill innocent Korhalians in our streets, who take from our fields and factories the food and products we pour our labor into. This will not stop, there is no hope of the Confederacy returning what it has taken from us, soon those few freedoms we still have will be lost to us. The peace and order that they say they will bring is a lie. We will suffer as second class citizens under a fascist government! Already we are under the control of General Edmund Duke in a state of martial law. I offer an alternative to this spineless, wretched state of existence. I offer you, my brethren, the power to say "no"! I have listened to your voices, and I know that you are ready to stop living under oppression as the Confederacy's dogs. I have the weapons and equipment to make the Confederates go. Today I ask for men with the strength of mind and courage of heart to use them! Very soon we shall make our presence known, and at that time I ask that you join us. We have a duty to ourselves and our loved ones to work, to fight, to create a world and a life where our generations can be free, and live unmolested from ignorant opportunists who would use them as kindling to keep the fires of their voracious and destructive society burning. It is not a question of if we will win the fight, but a question of when. This I promise to you, as a man, and as a son of Korhal."  
  
Up on the roof, while Angus was making his address, Ben had ordered his team to the fifteenth floor to meet with Mengsk. Ben was the last to leave, and looking back saw the gun ship hovering over the building. One of the turrets aimed at the dishes on the other side of the building, and lit up. The thick beam lanced across the dishes cutting them into pieces, the explosives were also hit, causing a chain reaction as half the roof disappeared in a cloud of blinding concrete dust. Ben moved down the stairs as a cloud of dust enveloped him. After rubbing some of the dust that layered his suit off of his bubble helmet, Ben caught up with the others, in the main studio.  
"What happened up there? We lost the feed," asked Pavel.  
"The gunship," Ben explained as a deep rumbling reverberated about them.  
"Oh. Its all right we got the message out," assured Pavel.  
"What's that sound?" Angus asked.  
"That sound means that we need to get the hell out of here," Ben said.  
A wide, intense laser beam, originally intended for space vessels, shot through the studio killing three more of the men as well as numerous station employees. Those still alive panicked, and ran in various directions amid screams and profanities. The room was incredibly hot, and cinders floated all about. The new smoking hole in the wall displayed the bulk of the gunship. Ben pushed Angus and Pavel into the stairwell, and they continued down as another blast vaporized a swath of the studio.  
Pavel exited the building ran all out for the semi they had arrived in. The gunship hovering above fired down upon the truck. It erupted in a light green vespine fireball, leaving a white hot crater. The wave of heat and then force made Pavel stagger, and fly back.  
"Looks like we're next," said Angus, letting his distress only show a little.  
"I got an idea," Ben said.  
Going to a manhole cover, Ben used the motor assisted force of the suit's arm to jam his finger through the hole, sending a squealing into the air, and lifted it up before scraping it onto the ground with a ringing thud. He motioned the others into the hole. Pavel and Angus did so without a word. "We'll meet up later," Ben imparted, "All right everyone, scatter, and run like hell." The remaining fighters moved in opposite directions, but another five were turned to glowing cinders before the rest escaped. The gunship fired one last beam at the manhole, punching through the ground, and melting the surroundings. After a few minutes the vehicle of destruction ascended into the heavens, and out of sight.  
  
When Arcturus Mengsk returned to his room for the evening, he kept the lights down low. Most of the day had been spent speaking with various buyers of his minerals and Vespene gases. The Confederacy always paid him handsomely for his materials, but ever they tried to argue down the prices. The command center he operated from was now anchored on a mining site so small that the planetoid they were on had no atmosphere. The view from his room was of eternal night. He had heard of the broadcast that his father had made earlier. The foolishness of the action amazed Arcturus. He knew that his father was not fond of the Confederacy, but he was not a rash man either. He feared for the safety of his father. Korhal had a chance to find a place in the Confederacy, but now they may not allow Korhal to have any place.  
Arcturus could feel something stir within him. There was anger, much anger, but this was something deeper, below the anger. It was something inseparable from himself. Arcturus did not know how to describe it, but it was something he had never before felt. He looked at the Comsat that was five paces away from where he sat in his plush, burgundy chair. He felt the need to go over to it, and send a message to his father, but for some reason he didn't, and he hated himself for it.  
  
Pavel and Benjamin pulled up to Pavel's house in a hovercar. The car was the one that had broken down on Pavel the day he had been shot. After doing some repairs and replacing the plates with older ones, they had transportation. The problem wasn't as bad as Pavel had thought. A blockage in the air intake had caused an overheat, and the engine automatically shut down.  
The drive over had served to illustrate the magnitude of the effects of Angus' call to arms. All the four million or so people of Korhal, who had once given in to the Confederacy's relentless hounding, had undergone a metamorphosis. As Pavel had told Angus, the people believed in him. For so long they had no idea of the true intent of the Confederacy, nor did they have any sight of the common bonds of subversive oppression that were upon all Korhalians. Mengsk had offered them a trusted leader to stand with, and new ideas, such the belief that Korhalians were their own people, and that they were good people, possessing self worth, autonomous from a sprawling intergalactic ruling body. Their own home was all that they cared about, they had no desire to fight in foreign wars for other people. For the first time Korhalians were understanding that those who surrounded them were not just other people, but their brothers and sisters who shared the same collective fate as they did. The anger that issued forth from these people was magnificent in a way. It was as if they were ready to claim their revenge after finally coming to know that they have been, to some degree, slaves, all their lives.  
However, right now, Pavel was more concerned about his family. He had listened when Angus spoke to him about his commitment to his family, and something had clicked. He was surprised how much he missed them. Pavel exited the passenger side of his hovercar while it continuously made its gentle yet intense blowing noise.  
There in front of him was the house he remembered. It was white, and two stories. A small satellite dish sat atop the right side of the roof. The door with its golden elliptical handle. The sprinklers that always showered him with a light, sunlit mist on his way to work. The small door now covered with cobwebs, that had allowed their now dead pet entry through the fence, and into the yard. There were so many memories, so many experiences that had been taken for granted, and that had gained a new respect in his mind.  
Then Pavel's attention returned to the present. The front door had opened, and on the step stood his wife, Kelly, holding the baby that they had not even named yet. Kelly just stood there in shock, slack jawed. She must have thought that she would never see Pavel again. The lines on her face seemed to soften, and silent tears begun to trace their paths down her soft, flushed cheeks.  
Pavel's five year old daughter, Melanie came out, and at the sight of her father, came tottering over toward him. Pavel hadn't remembered just how beautiful his wife was. She seemed a radiant vision in his eyes. Pavel called for them to join him where he was, next to the hovercar. He saw the face, and eyes of his daughter, the joy appeared to run out of them like inexhaustible rivers, turbulent, yet caressing, as they were given to him freely, and without inhibition, as a child knowing no need to hold back in a world giving her only love would. This was the last moment in all of Pavel's life that he ever thought he could be happy again.  
It was impossible to know why it happened then. Perhaps it was that they knew that Pavel wasn't coming any closer to the house. After that last moment everything changed. Every window in the house shattered, and the pieces flew out. Fire ripped through the entirety of the building. Where Pavel's wife and infant child had been standing, there was now only flames. His daughter was sent into the air by the blast, and collided with him, square in the chest. Pavel's rear was sent through the window of the hovercar, and landed so that the remaining shards of the window tore into him just below the fleshy part of his backside. The glass did not sever any major veins or arteries, but the pain was sharp. It was only a dim sensation to Pavel as he slid off, and on to his feet, tightly holding his daughter to his chest. Cracking sounds evidenced that the shards had broken, and remained in his body. Every pore was sweating from the heat and flame that was continuing to consume his home, his life.  
"Holy shit!" Benjamin exclaimed, witnessing the event from the driver's seat. Some small bits of glass were in his face, and there were minor cuts. He scootched over, brushing glass off of the seat, and swung open the passenger door. Pavel was pulled in as the door was again closed, and Ben became quiet as he focused on driving away from the scene as quickly as possible.  
Pavel stared into space, as the hovercar jostled from quick turns, and sudden stops, clutching at his daughter, the last person in the world that would ever care about him. Ben didn't say anything, and didn't know if Pavel knew, but it was obvious that she had died instantly. Pavel gave short infrequent sobs as tears irrigated his face, and the still warm head of his young daughter. Very suddenly the sobbing and tears stopped.  
There had always been a softness in Pavel's eyes, but now that softness was fading, never to return. His eyes hardened. It was a hardness that was permanent just the way the softness had been. From then on, whether he laughed, smiled, cried, hated, glared, stared, ate, drank, spoke, slept, lived or died, the hardness was always there, looking back from within his soul. 


	5. Authority Rejected P4

Authority Rejected  
Part 4  
  
Benjamin Gaardnar, now a militiaman, stood on the floor of the vault, his Gauss rifle held pointing up in one hand as its cartridge was ejected, while the other had already removed a full one from the ammo compartment of his suit. He slammed it into the underside of the weapon, and returned to a fire ready position as the gun's capacitor charged up. Ben fired single bursts from the gun to demonstrate the length of the interval between firing bursts that the rifle needed to recharge the capacitor. Ben knew that ammo would become too precious to have every man waste entire bursts on training.  
"Make sure you remember the interval between bursts, it will help to maximize your firing rate," advised Ben.  
With that he dismissed the troops that he had been instructing. Ben had tried to give as much training as he could to the new Korhal militiamen. After his experiences at the broadcast studio, he knew that if the men had no training, they wouldn't last long against disciplined space marines. Still, there was only so much he could do, especially with so little time to prepare. The good news was that an amazing amount of people answered Angus' call. Ben also hoped to use any remaining element of surprise to their advantage. It seemed to be their best weapon.  
Pavel came up to Ben, having also donned a suit of powered armor. Ben could tell that Pavel had changed after the sudden death of his family. 'Not surprising, shit happens' Ben thought to himself. Pavel no longer concerned himself with idle chatter when speaking. Anyone who happened to lock eyes with him would receive an icy stare that would shrink their stomach to the size of a marble.  
Not long after the life shattering event, Buller sarcastically asked Pavel what the hell his problem was. In response, Pavel walked over and threw a punch across Buller's tiny chin and told him to shut up. He fell on his butt and shut up right away as Pavel walked off. Ben explained the situation later, and that was the last time Buller ever gave Pavel any trouble.  
It wasn't that Pavel had become a hardass. There was a general feeling of resentment within, and a desensitzation that had added a more direct, practical element to Pavel's nature. It was actually quite subtle, but Ben had been around him enough to experience those few times when those traits ran strong in Pavel. If anything Pavel had become the voice of reason for the group, advising the use of caution in their plans. He certainly wanted revenge, but knew that they had to be patient. Pavel had taken it upon himself to learn how to use a suit and a Gauss rifle. He wanted to take an active role in the battle against the Confederacy's Augustgrad base that was soon to come.  
"So, what do you think?" Pavel asked how he looked in the armor with its red color scheme.  
"I think you'll do fine," said Ben with a chuckle, "How you feelin'?"  
Pavel touched to backside on his suit remembering the now stitched wounds where they had removed the glass shards.  
"I'm fine, physically," said Pavel staring off into space. Angus, in plainclothes, joined the two, who were much taller than him in their suits, "You know..I would join you in one of those...but I don't..."  
Ben broke in, "Don't worry about it, Angus, the battlefield isn't your place. I wouldn't let you go even if you wanted to. Where did Buller go to anyway?"  
Mengsk nodded toward the men still loading trucks with shipments. The top level had been emptied, but the cargo elevator was still bringing up gear from the lower floors, "He's organizing more weapons shipments. Groups all over Korhal have joined our militia, and they've all indicated that they're ready.  
"It's a good idea," Pavel said over his suit speaker as a truck engine struggled to life and another shipment drove off, "If we attack the larger Confederate outposts simultaneously, and take them, the rest should be easy."  
"Now that we actually have enough people in enough places, we can do that," added Mengsk.  
"I'm done talkin' about it," asserted Ben, "It's time we did this thing."  
Pavel nodded as they started to walk to the area where they kept their suits. "Just a little longer, and it will all go off like clockwork," he said.  
  
Col. Simon Burns stood in large, circular, windowed room on the third level of the base's main facility. The windows gave a three hundred sixty degree view of the base. At the center of the room sat communications equipment for observers to use if they needed to report. There was also a metal trapdoor that looked similar to the floor, but slid open to reveal a stair next to the equipment. However, as dusk approached, Burns ignored the impressive view and directed a stern look at Privates Laine and Reeman.  
"Care to tell me what really happened at the courthouse, Privates?"  
The two men grew tense, and then Reeman spoke up, "One of them got away, Sir."  
Burns yelled at the top of his voice, "I know one of them got away!" The two marines cringed ever so slightly.  
He took a few seconds to regain his composure and asked, "Do you even know who you let get away?"  
"We couldn't tell, Sir," answered Laine as he continued to stand at attention.  
"Senator Angus Mengsk," Burns said, "The very one who just gave a speech over pirated satelight signals asking all of Korhal to go to war against us a week ago. If you had taken care of him that would have never happened. He's gone underground now, and something is going to happen soon, I can feel it. All because of you."  
"There was resistance, Sir," explained Laine.  
"What the hell are you talking about, "resistance"," Burns spat in disgust.  
"Two people with low caliber semi-automatics rescued him, and escaped," added Reeman.  
Burns thought about that for a moment as he stared at the floor, but didn't come up with anything. "Don't think I'm finished..." Burns was interupted by a rumbling from the east.  
All three went to the east end of the room. A circular cloud of thick smoke was dispersing from a section of the fence. Burns returned to the comm. equipment, and established a line to the base's tactical room, "This is Col. Burns, what's the situation?"  
"Yes, Sir, there has been an explosive device detonated at the east wall.  
"I know that, anything else," demanded Burns irately.  
"Not at this time, Sir," came the reply.  
Burns shut down the com, and looked over at Laine and Reeman, still at the window. "You still have some explaining to do," Burns said. Then he slid open the trapdoor and exited.  
  
Commander Norbert was already in the tactical room which contained displays and kiosks to monitor and communicate with bases and forces all over Korhal. The room had no windows, and one large screen on the wall opposite the sliding door that permitted entrance.  
"Can you give me visual?" Norbert asked of his assistant. The screen lit up with the image of the wrought iron fence on the east side, that had been constructed more for a pleasant facade than actual defense, but the center of the picture was filled with the same dispersing circular cloud of smoke that Burns had seen. "That's odd, there's too much smoke for it to be a normal explosive."  
Tall shapes gained definition in the gray haze, and marines began to materialize from out of it. "Why are our marines wearing red suits?" Questioned Norbert.  
"We don't have any red suits, sir," answered the assistant.  
The Korhal millitiamen began firing on the marines that had gathered, suppressing them easily.  
"Put the base on alert, order all units to the breach in the east wall, we are under attack," Norbert ordered, calm, but surprised.  
'How did they get powered armor?' Thought Norbert.  
As most of the marines on the base concentrated at the breach the millitiamen were being pushed back through the it. Then another gray-brown blast threw up earth and wrought iron. The main gate had been blasted, and similar red suited militiamen began pouring through, making for the flank of the white suited Alpha Squadron marines. The defenders were being flanked, and though they were inflicting more casualties then they were taking, they were heavily outnumbered. The millitia slowly pushed the marines back toward the main facility of the base.  
Norbert was awestruck. The rage of the militia poured forth like the hail of bullets from their guns, but it was clumsy, and relied too much on emotion. The marines made them pay with well aimed bursts which struck much more precisely.  
"Sir, I'm receiving reports from several bases around Korhal that they are under heavy attack.  
"Give me the Fredricksburg," Norbert told his assistant.  
Within a minute Captain Morell of the Fredricksburg was on the screen. He was an attentive fellow with long thick sideburns that were well kept, the rest of his light brown hair was covered by his captains hat. He had light blue eyes that always looked glassy, a cleft chin, and his cheeks held a pink hue. "What can I do for you, commander?" Morell greeted, giving a slight smile with his thin lips.  
"I need to speak with General Duke immediately," replied Norbert, now with a nervous vehemence.  
"He's in TacCom now, one moment," said Morell. The screen changed to show several pieces of equipment and personnel moving about before Duke managed to get in front of the monitor.  
"Yes, commander," he said simply.  
"This base, as well as several others, have come under heavy attack," alerted Norbert.  
"Yes, I know. I'm in TacCom, I'm getting the same reports," informed Duke, with an unimpressed drawl.  
"I don't know if we can hold out against them, I'm requesting reinforcements to be dropped in imediately," Norbert informed. The commander noticed on a separate monitor near him a camera feed that displayed the marines taking refuge in the building firing on the militiamen from windows and doorways.  
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," responded Duke.  
Norbert's stomach knotted imediately and he unconsciously swallowed, "I don't understand," was his only remark.  
"I'm not sending any more forces onto the planet's surface. I'm orderin' all outposts, including yours, to evacuate, and return to the fleet," Duke insinuated.  
"We're surrendering?" asked Norbet after inhaling deeply.  
"I won't argue with you about it," the general went to cut the signal but paused, "Oh, and make sure you bring back Burns with you, or don't bother coming back."  
The screen went blank, and Norbert just stood there for a moment, thinking while staring into space. "Sound the evac order, and shut down everything. We have to get to the aerofield, and take the dropships out," Norbert ordered.  
  
Ben and Pavel were joining the main gate assault force that had converged on the east side of the base's main facility. The purplish-green grass was ground beneath their feet as it was trampled by their heavy suits.  
"You ready, Pavel?" Ben checked as they entered the zone of combat.  
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," affirmed Pavel as he focused forward. He saw a few marine stragglers, and, planting his feet began blasting away at them, his teeth barred. After the first couple of bursts, Pavel began squeezing the trigger over and over in his frustration, causing nothing to happen. One of the marines aimed at Pavel, and then fell down dead from Ben's gunfire.  
Ben stood next to Pavel, "You can't shoot like that, it drains the capacitor and wears it out."  
"I forgot," Pavel said.  
"Don't," said Ben as they reached the building.  
Ben hefted his weighty Gauss rifle to his sholder to try and increase his accuracy to hit the marines in the windows. Scores of militiamen fell, and more than once Pavel and Ben took hits on their armor from the shrapnel of others' armor as it was gutted, some pieces causing small holes in their suits. Then the marines disappeared and the gunfire stopped.  
Ben spoke through the suit comm. to the militia, "Alright, we're going to have to go in and clean it out. This is going to be some nasty, close quarters stuff, so be on guard."  
Ben entered with Pavel close behind. They made their way through dull but eerie hallways with their footsteps echoing and drowning out any other noise, but they were all empty. As they continued, Ben directed men to branch off into alternate hallways until only a few remained with him.  
As they entered a mess hall, they saw marines escaping. Both sides opened fire at the same time. Ben fell on his side as he fired to dodge their shots, and took one out. Pavel crouched as much as the suit would allow him, and got another, the other militiamen took out two before they were killed. The last marine hit Pavel with a short burst before running away. Pavel was forced back to sit against the wall. His chest armor was twisted and torn apart, showing the plastics and wires beneath. One more good shot would end him. Ben went over to him.  
"I'm alright, but it sure hurt," Pavel said groaning and clutching his chest while wincing in pain. Ben slowly helped him up after a moment, and motioned for him to keep going. They continued after the marine, and turned a corner to find two marines facing them, guns ready.  
The Marines went to shoot, but one contacted the other through his suit comm., "Wait, those are the two guys from the courthouse!" Privates Laine and Reeman just stood there as Pavel and Ben waited for their response.  
"What are you waiting for? Shoot them and lets go!" Exclaimed Col. Burns from behind the metal wall that the Private's suits made.  
"Commander, these are the two men we told you about," they explained.  
"I don't care, kill them," Burns insisted.  
Laine and Reeman just stood there. "I don't have time for this shit," said Burns in frustration before running down the hall.  
Another group of militia joined Ben and Pavel. "Hold your fire," advised Ben over the com.  
"Drop your weapons," yelled one of the militiamen. Reeman and Laine did as they were told, and Pavel pushed past them. He wanted this commander, he wanted answers. Ben ran after him.  
Col. Burns could hear the heavy, clanging footsteps as reached one of the west exits just as a marine was exiting. Burns told him to stop, and exited the building. He stood in front of the marine who was in the doorway. "Open your helmet," Burns said. The marine pressed a switch under the left forearm of his suit and the visor swiveled above his face. Burns removed his pistol pressed it up against the marine's forehead, and pulled the trigger with a 'pop'. The man's cranial contents splattered the back of his bubble helmet, and as his body went slack Burns did his best to guide it into a position that blocked the door. The barrel of the pistol billowed smoke, and Burns blew it clear before continuing to run.  
Pavel came to the blocked door and unloaded his rifle at Burns, but he was already out of range. He tried to move the exosuit, but it was lodged in the doorway. Pavel would have given up after this, but now things were different, he had to know what that commander knew. The anger welled up in him, and he ceased to think clearly, something Pavel had almost never done. He switched open the back panel of the exosuit, and stepped out of it. He hopped through the exit wearing only a tight fitting body suit and chased after Burns.  
Pavel's anger gave him a speed boost and he began to catch up. Burns unloaded his pistol and reholstered it, but missed Pavel in his haste. Burns reached the control tower before stopping for breath. Beads of sweat dribbled down his brow as his heart throbbed and his ragged breathing began to normalize. Most of the dropships had already taken off. Pavel caught up with him, and they took a few moments to catch their breath.  
"Were you...the one...who had...my family killed?" Asked Pavel.  
Burns stared at him a moment then, "Oh yeah, I've seen you in intelligence reports, a resistance leader."  
"Answer my question," said Pavel with considerable ire.  
"I've killed a lot of people, but I don't have anything to do with you," replied Burns while he looked over Pavel's shoulder.  
He noticed that the advancing millitia would soon be in firing range of them. Rather than staying out in the open, Burns dashed into the control tower, and to the elevator in the center that opened as soon as he pressed the call button.  
Before the door fully closed, Pavel squeezed in. Burns gave him a solid swing to the jaw causing Pavel to stumble back, but as the elevator lurched Burns also stumbled and braced the shinny metal wall with a loud dull thump. Pavel used the opportunity to kick one of his legs out and while Burns was on his knees, Pavel pulled his head back and punched down into his face. Burns pulled his legs out from under him as the punch forced him down, and, landing on his lower back, curved his back so that he rocked onto his shoulders with his legs above him, and pushed them up giving Pavel a double kick to the chin causing his head to snap back as he voiced a cry through his closed teeth. He stumbled back again causing the side of the elevator to thud again. Pavel was stunned, but had just enough sense and adrenaline to lean to the side as Burns tried to get in another shot to the head. His fist hit the metal wall hard, giving a lighter thud sound. Burns pulled his balled hand to his chest, wincing, and held his brused knuckles in pain. Pavel tried to return the favor while still dazed, but tripped and only scored a glancing but strong blow to the ribs on Burns' side. Burns used his upper arm to shield his hurt side. Pavel, now on the ground, pulled one of Burn's legs from under him, but he compensated and landed with his knee on Pavel's back then proceeded to grab Pavel's hair and repeatedly smash his face into the ascending floor as Pavel made grunts. Pavel, overcome with rage, yelled and ripped Burns' hand from his hair, and bit into it, drawing blood. Burns gave a deep shriek, and stood against the elevator door nursing a twice injured hand. Pavel returned to a crouch position, and Burns pressed himself through the opening elevator door.  
Burns limped through the top level of the control tower with its consoles and detection systems. Pavel wasn't far behind, and as Burns climbed the ladder to the roof he turned with his back against the rungs and pushed off pressing his heels to Pavel's shoulders and pushing off of him back to the ladder. Pavel was sent to floor while Burns continued up to the roof.  
As Pavel followed, his anger and adrenaline was beginning to wear off leaving him drained. His eyes were swelling and his nose was bleeding, and his now swollen lip had split. Dusk was fast approaching, and shades of purple stained the sky. Pavel joined Burns on the flat roof where the detection and communication fixtures sat. The roof's edge was surrounded by blinking lights. Down below the last three dropships took off, but one changed its course.  
"Who killed my family?!" Shouted Pavel, causing a dribble of blood to spill out of the corner of his mouth.  
"I have no idea, but as far as I care, this whole planet can burn," Burns yelled back.  
The lone dropship approached as its ramp lowered. Burns looked toward it for a second then began to limp toward it. Pavel hurled himself to his legs, tackling Burns. He responded by pulling out his empty pistol and clubbing Pavel in the back of the head causing him to go limp. Burns untangled himself, and continued to the dropship. He heard Pavel coming up on him again, running sloppy like he was having trouble standing, and this time turned and tossed the pistol at him, impacting Pavel in the shoulder. Pavel did a quarter turn, and fell to his side clutching his shoulder. Burns reached the edge of the roof and at the right moment hopped on the ramp and into the dropship, which hovered until the ramp closed and then ascended until the white speck dissapeared into the purple. The last reserves of Pavel's energy left him, and he now felt the pain in his face and head. His body was sore all over, and waves of pain radiated from the center of his brain, like a railroad hammer was hitting it, and his ears rang. As the sky became black, Pavel shivered in his body suit and lost his grip on awareness.  
  
Burns had to focus to keep his balance as the dropship he found himself in continued to ascend. Finally he had to grab onto one of the large harnesses that were being used by suited marines to secure themselves in their seats as the vessel jostled them, before his hurt knee gave out. He now noticed that all of the seats, except one, were occupied with marines who were staring at him. The one at the far end of the ship, near the door to the cockpit, contained Col. Norbert himself. Even though the ship was still at an angle to continue its ascent into space, Norbert unbolted his harness, and released its mechanism, causing it to swing up above his head. He pushed himself out of the seat, and carefully stepped to the center of the poorly lit cabin. Burns' face became puzzled. Norbert looked at him for a moment before breaking the silence that acompanied the sound of the thrusters that propulsed the wide ship out of Korhal's atmosphere.  
"Aren't you going to thank me?" Norbert said with no expectation of thanks.  
Burns raised a corner of his mouth, but still didn't look particularly happy, "Never thought you would pick me up."  
"Actually, General Duke said not to come back without you," Norbert paused a moment, oblivious to the increasingly nervous stares coming from the harnessed marines, "I was going to leave you anyway and tell Duke you had died, which would have been the truth, but when we were boarding I saw you enter the tower, and then on the roof with the other guy, and my better judgment compelled me to have the pilot pick you up. What was that anyway?"  
The dropship was almost out of the atmosphere now and the artificial gravity was making it easier to stand up straight.  
Burns gave Norbert a sour look, "It was some nut who wanted to know which confederate killed his family. Relentless bastard, but not a coward."  
Then Burns remembered the entire situation, and glared at Norbert. He would have walked up to him and imposed himself on him if his hand and knee hurt less, but as it was he simply yelled, "Why the hell did you evacuate the base? You know it was my specific orders to not lose the base under any condition!"  
Norbert responded by raising his voice in irritation, "Your general was the one who ordered the base evacuated, every base on Korhal evacuated as a matter of fact."  
"You're lying," declared Burns. A light turned on, bathing the room in a spooky contrast of bright red accompanied with black shadows. This signified that the pilot had turned on the cabin speaker.  
The woman's smooth, slightly nasal voice grabbed everyone's attention from the speaker, "We've been cleared to dock with the Fredricksburg, should be there in under an hour."  
"You see, he's expecting us, you can ask him personally," asserted Norbert.  
Burns just grunted as he walked past Norbert, who's eyes followed him, doing his best to hide his limp. Burns dropped into Norbert's seat, pulled down the harness, and locked it back into place.  
Burns gave him a wide, patronizing, grin, "Thanks," he said.  
Norbert looked at him with a dormant anger, and then realized that he was going to have to stand for the rest of the trip.  
As that hour or so passed, the dropship approached the shadowed underbelly of the Fredricksburg. General Duke and Captain Morell stood on the deck of the docking bay behind an airtight wall. Most of the bay had been vacuumed free of gases before allowing craft to enter, as air was far too valuable on a battlecruiser to waste during docking procedures. A section of the floor retracted, and the dropship slowly boosted up and into the large, fifty foot high docking bay. The floor hatch then returned to a closed, locked position and the wide, pug-nosed dropship, along with several others, powered down its hover and landed. Several yellow lights periodically flashed indicating that the bay was still in a state of vacuum. As the two men waited for the bay to pressurize they chatted.  
"I'm sorry about the hasty arrangements we set up for you, if you would like we can find something a little more suitable," appologized Captain Morell.  
"It's fine for now, Captain. I'm not picky. Besides being in TacCom is the best place to be for information," assured Duke. After a few more minutes of this, the yellow lights became green indicating that the atmosphere was not fully pressureized, but that it was safe to be in. The door they were standing by became unlocked, and Duke pressed a button to cause it to slide open. A strong wind kicked up and pulled them inside the bay. The door closed on its own. Their ears ached from the low pressure. Duke knew what specific bay Burn's and Norbert's dropship had entered from, and reached it in a minute. As the bay became fully pressurized, the lights stopped, and the ramps of the dropships began to open.  
"Norbert sounded a little flustered. I don't think he is going to agree with your orders," said Morell, raising his eyebrows.  
"Not anything I can do about that, orders are orders, not like he's in a place to tell me what to do," stated Duke.  
The Captain just nodded. The marines in the ship marched out and formed a line at attention, saluting. Duke and the Captain returned it. "There'll be officers outside to show you where you'll be staying, go ahead and get outta those suits, a take some R&R, you've earned it," explained the General.  
The men marched as a line toward the exit sending their footsteps ringing across the bay. Several others were also leaving the bay. Norbert and Burns were next to exit the darkened interior of the dropship. The four men exchanged salutes. "So, I'm sure I already know your first question," began Duke.  
Norbert acknowledged him, irked, "Why did you order the full evacuation of Korhal?"  
Burns realized that Norbert wasn't lying and joined the conversation, "I thought that it was vital to hold Augustgrad, but now letting go of the entire planet and handing it to the rebels?"  
"To tell you the truth, it wasn't my order. The people back on Tarsonis gave this call," explained Duke.  
"But, why?" Norbert asked simply.  
"You see, as I've told Col. Burns, this is a very sensitive matter. The Confederacy must at all times appear to have some measure of control over the situation. If we became involved in a conflict that gave the appearance that we were struggling against the rebels, then other colonies might get it in their damn fool heads that they too could and should revolt. I think it goes without explaining that such a scenario is something they're trying to avoid. I was told to withdraw all forces and sit tight if we found ourselves in such a position. This way we're not stuck in a difficult battle, but we're also not surrendering to the rebels," continued Duke.  
"So we just do nothing now?" Asked Norbert incredulously.  
"That's right," replied the General in a suddenly harsher voice, "I briefed command of the core of the problem on Korhal," Duke flashed a glance at Burns to remind him of just how much he screwed up, "and they said they were sending a little somethin' from Nova Squadron to take care of things."  
Everyone looked at Duke with a bewildered intensity. When Nova Squadron got involved, things got strange.  
  
Buller, Benjamin Gaardnar, and Angus Mengsk stood atop the main facility of the former Confederate base of Augustgrad. The smoke from their bombs had nearly cleared away, but a few gray, serpentine wisps still rose from the craters left behind. From the roof they could clearly see where the fighting took place. The corpses of marines and militiamen littered the ground. From the amount of red militiamen suits compared to white Alpha Squadron suits, it looked like two or three militiamen had fallen for every marine lost. The thought was depressing, but not surprising. The number would have been worse if not for the sudden unexplainable retreat. For now those who had survived were pulling the bodies from the suits and piling them to be burned in the crater pits. They had to try and salvage as many suits as possible, and repair what they could. Nobody knew when they might need them. The recent events had left a lot of stray thoughts on the three men's minds, and a lot of unanswered questions on their tongues.  
"So, how's Pavel doing?" Angus asked Ben.  
"Most of the damage is just cuts and bruises, but he has a bad concussion. The people we had look him over said that he may never wake up. We just have to wait and see. Problem is that we might not ever stop waiting," Ben reported, spitting on the cement roof.  
"What happened to him, is what I want to know," continued Angus as he watched the militiamen move about the killing field.  
"It must have been that commander he was chasing after that did it to him. Why did he chase after him like that? I can't believe he would do something so stupid," said Ben.  
Angus turned to look at Ben, "Ever since the bombing, he's been having problems. I can't help but feel sorry for him, but if he keeps getting these self destructive impulses, he isn't going to last long."  
Buller had remained strangly quiet and looked away the entire time they spoke of Pavel. Now he went to the flagpole and removed the last Alpha Squadron flag with the blocky "A" and the hawk symbol that they derived their nickname, "The Blood Hawks", from. Buller rolled up the flag and took out his lighter. "We don't have anything to give a toast with, but we have this," Buller said before he lit the flag and dropped it in front of him as the other two gathered around it, "To the men."  
"To the men," repeated Ben and Mengsk, referring to those who labored and had died below them.  
The flag continued to bend and curl in the flame as Buller changed the subject, "Using the comms at this base we've been able to establish contact with other bases that are now under our control. They've told us that all their bases, that all the bases on Korhal, have been abandoned."  
The burning flag was now caught up in a draft, and fluttered, no longer burning, into the bright sky, where they lost sight of the injured, but not destroyed flag.  
"I guess we should celebrate," said Ben woodenly, "but I sure don't feel like it now."  
"No, not now, but when the time comes, and the people have witnessed our victory, we will," affirmed Mengsk turning to face the field again with one of his hands in a fist, "We owe it to those men who now lie still."  
Mengsk began to feel his empowerment building ever so slowly, like a stalagmite growing taller and broader over the hundreds of years as every single drop falls upon it and adds a few particles of sediment. He spoke once more affirming his strength, and his faith, "This is our world now." 


	6. Authority Rejected P5

Authority Rejected  
  
Part 5  
Conclusion  
  
General Edmund Duke and Colonel Simon Burns found themselves on the Docking Bay of the Fredricksburg again. This time they were waiting for the "Little Somethin'", as Duke had put it, from Nova Squadron.  
"You've been unusually tight-lipped about this, General," remarked Burns.  
"It will be easier to explain once you've seen them first," said Duke, rubbing one of his eyes.  
Duke's mind drifted back to the situation down on Korhal. Hardly a single Confederate remained on the planet's surface, and it was now under control of the united rebel group, calling themselves the Korhal Militia. Duke gave a nearly inaudible sigh. He had been feeling very uncomfortable lately. Everyone seemed angry and ready to blame him. In meantime he was ordered to sit on his thumb and do nothing. The new arrivals they were waiting for were also making him edgy.  
Coinciding with these thoughts, the thick door to the bay proper slid open, and two boys and a girl entered. The three lined up at attention, and saluted Duke, who returned it. They wore dark purple, the color of Nova Squadron, from which they had arrived. Their suits were form fitting, and bland. They wore heavy boots that went up to their knees. The most notable thing was probably the large canister rifles they held, which fired heavy explosive rounds. In their other hands they held odd helmets that looked to have comms and vision enhancement technology built in. This type of helmet had two tubes running from it to a backpack. It looked like it could be used to breathe in hazardous environments or even in space. Duke told the people from Nova Squadron to be at ease.  
One of the boys with raven black hair spoke up in a voice with very little inflection, "Col. Hauler sends us, along with his greetings, sir."  
Duke gave a little grunt of acknowledgment. Jackson Hauler was the commander of Nova Squadron, and a man who possessed a great deal of power. This was because Nova Squadron's purpose was to uncover information on the enemies of the Confederacy, no matter how secretive it may be. This meant that it was constantly on the lookout for conspiracies within as well as without of the government. When dealing with Nova Squadron, they usually already knew everything about you, and it was difficult to know if what they said was truth or misinformation. Nova Squadron was also the one involved with the ghost project, and "Ghost" was the only name that these three people had, as far as Duke knew.  
"So, as I understand it, your mission is to dispose of the rebel leader," confirmed Duke, "I'm surprised they sent three of you. I didn't think that would be necessary."  
The other boy answered, "Apparently, this is a mission of unusual importance to many people."  
"It would seem so," replied Duke as he placed his hand on his chin and looked out into space, thinking dark thoughts.  
He then gestured toward an enlisted man waiting nearby, "He will show you to your quarters. When you've prepared to disembark to the surface, report to me and I'll make sure that you have everything that you need. Dismissed."  
They saluted and left, the waiting area was now empty except for the two. Burns followed them with his eyes until they turned a corner. His face had slackened, and he looked to be mildly shocked. "They're...they're still children!" Burns exclaimed, turning back to Duke, "The boys looked in their mid-teens, but that girl, she looked like she was ten!"  
The General remained unfazed, and spoke to Burns with no change in his voice, "Yes, I was a little disturbed when I heard about it too, but once you find out about all of the dirty little secrets that the Confederacy keeps under its belt, well, ya get used to it."  
"But..," was all Burns could say.  
"Nova Squadron has been involved with something called the Ghost project for well over a decade. Its been largely unsuccessful, but it seems they're about to hit it big," Duke began, looking around to be sure no one would hear them, "They take children, from their parents without giving a reason, kill them if they have to. They do some sort of program that boosts the psychic abilities that they detected in them. Then they start teaching them to kill," Duke looked at the ground with his head turned as he spoke, "They start at an early age, so that it seems natural to 'em. Sometimes I wonder if they have any conscience at all. These ones must be some of the first that they're field testin'. It also means that the Confederacy is willin' to do anything to make sure Angus Mengsk dies. Cause I'll tell you, once they go down to that planet, he's only got a short while 'til he's a dead man." Duke looked back at Burns, "I almost feel sorry for that man, but he's caused us a lot of trouble. Maybe this will work out for the best."  
The Colonel clenched his jaw, then spoke in a low, deliberate voice, "I knew they did strange experiments, but that's... just barbaric."  
Duke nodded, "Its best to not talk about it," he looked at Burns in a way that meant that he would not be talking about it again. Burns returned the nod and the two men parted ways.  
  
In the aftermath of the Confederate retreat from Korhal, Angus Mengsk secured the former Confederate base that the Korhal Militia had won. It contained valuable equipment, and served as a staging point against any Confederate counterattacks. In the nearly two weeks that followed the victory, Angus had been thrust into position as the leader of the world, and the voice of the people. It was a responsibility that he had resigned himself to, but it also brought a great deal of danger to him, and anyone he knew. To gain some measure of security, Angus took his family, left his house, and moved to the mansion of the magistrate. His advisors joined him, and a contingent of militia was brought in to guard the mansion. While the military base served as a center for their forces, the mansion was the command center.  
The term "mansion" was somewhat of a misnomer. The building had been constructed long ago, back when Korhal was a young colony. This was a time when it served not only as a center of power, but was also the center of defense for the colony and was more of a fortress than a mansion. The main building was several stories tall with a sensor system on the roof for early warning against air attacks. It could hold many men and supplies against invasion. The perimeter of the grounds was a thick metal wall that was wide enough for two soldiers to walk along. All around the wall and at the gates stood watchtowers. Inside the grounds there were many trees and bushes, and this tranquil scenery contrasted heavily with the nature of the structures surrounding them. Alongside the foliage, ran a wide main road to the fort, and small footpaths that threaded their way throughout the grounds. On the grounds and in the buildings existed many types of security devices. Most of these had been unused by the last magistrate, as there had been little danger, but now it proved to be an excellent defense, with men on the walls, grounds, and in the towers, and with all the security active.  
The compound was on the top of a hill, and none of the surrounding buildings were tall enough to permit a person on any roof to gain a view without shifting their gaze upward. This was despite the fact that many of the surrounding buildings were also several stories tall, but not nearly high enough to be called skyscrapers. This allowed Mengsk and the others to breathe a little easier, but they knew better than to completely let their guard down.  
After Mengsk had said good night to his family, he entered a common room that was a couple of floors below the top. Buller, Ben, and Pavel waited inside for him, as had become custom in the week and a half that had passed. The room had a snug, contained atmosphere, even though it could contain a dozen people. There was bright burning Vespine fueled fireplace on one side. Six chairs were arranged in a circle, so that the fire illuminated the very center of the room where a low, currently unused, circular table sat. The space reeked of brown. The walls and ceiling were a milk chocolate brown. The shaggy carpet was a darker moose brown. Even the chairs, which had just enough padding to relax and support, and the night stand sized tables next to each one, were shades of brown. The walls displayed outdated bookshelves, maps, and city design plans. In this room one could pretend that one was in an earlier time, when early colonization was an innocent survey of the unknown, and quite the adventure.  
As Mengsk took a seat facing the other three, who were seated next to each other, he noticed that Ben had a glass of liquor on his little table. Even though they now had Ports, Vodkas, Wines, and other things found only on Korhal, Ben still stuck to straight Whiskey. He didn't dilute it with ice either. Pavel had nothing, which was probably the best thing in his condition. Buller was dry too, but Angus knew that nowadays he only drank alone.  
"How are you feeling, Pavel?" Asked Angus.  
Pavel had only come out of his coma a few days ago, and while he put on a strong image, it was obvious that he was touch and go, mentally and physically. Even after the coma, Pavel had bags under his eyes, and only now were they beginning to subside. It was a miracle he had awoken at all.  
Pavel had been staring at the fire, and took a moment before recognizing the question. He whipped his head around to focus on Angus, "As well as possible," he said in a voice that was half sound, half gravel.  
Angus just nodded and continued, "Anything new to report?" It was the standard opening question.  
Ben knocked back the last half of his glass and half tossed it onto the table causing it to slide a little. He seemed unfazed, which was not a surprise given all the practice he had with holding his liquor. "We're stuck on this planet with a bunch of cocked guns and not a thing to shoot at. All the boys think they should be shooting at stuff, and I have to agree with them. We need to find something to shoot," Ben enlightened.  
"I don't really think that would be considered new, Ben," responded Buller with a sullen tone as he shifted in his chair.  
Pavel just glanced at Buller with the same haggard look in his eyes. Angus responded with frustration apparent in his voice, "I know what you mean, Benjamin, but we can't really do anything about it. Even if we could take the fight up there to them, we'd be no match for the Alpha Squadron fleet. As it is we have no ships that would be effective in a space battle. We don't have many space-worthy ships to begin with."  
"We have to just sit here, and wait and see what kind of hell they rain down on us next," added Buller relaxing into his chair again, "so I wouldn't be asking for a fight, 'cause when it comes, its going to come hard."  
Pavel gathered his mental reserves and put his opinion out, "The Confederacy has made this a war of attrition. We need to outlast them, as long as we can stay dependent on Korhal's resources we should be fine for now."  
Angus could tell that they were all getting down about the state of things, so he decided to mention a secret to them, "I'm going to let you in on something, but there can be no mention of it unless I say something first," the others nodded before Mengsk continued, "I've received correspondence from a power outside of the Confederacy." Already ideas and theories of who it could be were flashing through the minds of the three. Angus continued before they could question him, "No, I'm not going to tell you who, because if the Confederacy ever found out, it could lead to a far more destructive war. They have informed me that if we can hold on to our position long enough, they will do what they can to help supply us against the Confederacy. As you all know, most organizations outside of the Confederacy have an interest in anything that could weaken their dominance over the Koprulu sector, and having an independent territory in the heart of Confederate space would do just that."  
After spending a minute to take it all in, Pavel asked a question, "How long would we have to wait?"  
"I have no idea," was Mengsk's best answer, "but this shows that we have a very real chance to be independent. We're not alone, and perhaps, in time, we will be able to actively fight the Confederacy. But remember that we are fighting to be free, not to take down the Confederacy. That is a suicidal goal right now, and as unlikely as it may sound, I still hope that we can make peace with the Confederacy someday. Otherwise we will be trapped in a never-ending conflict. I'm going attend to some business before I go to bed." With those words Angus pushed himself off of his chair, and made his way out.  
"That came out of nowhere," noted Buller.  
"Eh, doesn't mean anything, just 'cause he got a message doesn't mean anyone is gonna help us," said Ben, shrugging before he too left his chair for bed.  
"I think there might be something to this. It would make sense. We have to use every opportunity to our advantage," said Pavel to the contrary.  
"Yes, but you can't rely on others. You do that and you're just asking to be backstabbed," reasoned Buller, "You look horrible, Pavel, you should get some sleep." Buller left the room.  
Pavel remained in the chair a while longer, staring into the green Vespine flames, and whispered to himself, "But when I fall asleep I never know if I'm going to wake up again."  
  
The three ghosts had the cabin of the dropship to themselves. They sat away from each other, and talked little. One of the boys had cleared his thoughts in preparation for the upcoming test. The raven haired boy remembered the circumstances that placed him here. Several ghosts were beginning to put their skills to the test. Col. Hauler and the others overseeing the project had agreed that it was time to begin the test phase. They kept them in groups to minimize losses. Every ghost was valued. The general had informed them of the insertion method before their launch. Confirming that they still had a satellite link to the military base's computers, the Fredricksburg alone, left the fleet, which had pulled away from Korhal's orbit after the retreat, returned to high orbit, and used the link to shut down the base's radar. Their target, the magistrate's residence, had a separate radar that could not be controlled, so they would have to approach low and insert in the surrounding city. The rest would be easy. The residence was an old Confederate building, so they had a full set of maps and complete knowledge of the security systems.  
The young girl was contemplating different circumstances that had led her up to this point. She thought of times long past, of the men taking her from her family, though because of her age at the time it was a faint memory. That had been so long ago when she was still nearly a baby. It elicited a sadness, but not the desperation that she had felt at one time. There were others at the place they took her. "People like her," they said. In that place other people were all they had, they had stuck together. Soon the tests began. She was connected to machines, and asked to use her abilities to guess things or read thoughts. It seemed easy to her, nothing new. Then they exercised her mind, asking her if the thoughts she read were lies, if pictures she saw were imaginary. Over time she began to be able to do these things, but the challenges always grew more complex. Over time she learned to use her abilities actively, causing people to not look at her or not notice, it didn't always work, but they were less likely to see her. They all began to communicate by thinking to each other, but then they performed the surgery that allowed them to dampen her powers. It was like a limit had been imposed on her, like a muscle being restrained. She couldn't think to others any longer, or impose her mind on others, but she could still sense other's thoughts and give subtle suggestions. It was like the bond that they had formed with each other was broken, and whatever unity they had was gone. They rarely even spoke to each other after that.  
Their programs of aerobics, gymnastics, hand to hand combat, and strength training were very strict. They introduced her to every weapon imaginable and taught her the correct way to use them. One day they placed her in a room with a man who was gagged and blindfolded. They gave her a knife and told her to put her skills to work. She knew what to do, but refused. He was shocked as a result. It looked very painful, the man was crying it seemed, and making noise. He spasmed, but was bound to the chair. They told her that when people are alive they feel pain, and that when they were killed it released them from that pain. No matter how or why people died, in the end it brought an end to their pain. As the man continued in his torture, she could read his thoughts of pain. When it became unbearable to her, she took the knife and reached up to place it on the back of his neck. At first the blade entered easily, and the man sat bolt upright, as much as the bonds let him. She pressed deeper as the blade received more resistance from the connective tissue between his vertebra, just as she had been trained. The man must have started to scream at the top of his lungs, because it was quite loud, even through the gag. Then, as she cut through the fibers of his spinal cord, his head snapped back, and he went limp. His heart had stopped instantly, and his sounds died away as his brain died from a lack of oxygen rich blood. On that day, still a young child, she had become a murderer. That man had been the first of several others.  
That memory also brought a sadness, but that mental conflict was long resolved. She was fully versed in the art of killing. Every time she killed she felt regret, but every time also lessened that regret and replaced it with apathy. Now was her chance to show her skill, to demonstrate her trustworthiness. It was her hope that after proving herself, they would allow her to leave the installation unsupervised. She had been allowed to walk among people, but always under watch. They told her to pay attention to people, listen to their thoughts, find out their strengths and weaknesses.  
She had to correct herself, she may never go back to that place, they were spreading throughout Koprulu on their missions. She could be sent anywhere, but she knew she would not miss the installation.  
The red speaker light switched on and off indicating their arrival and the other smaller lights that usually kept the cabin partially lit also shut off, leaving the cabin in darkness. The ghosts activated the nightvision mode on their goggles and swung their harnesses above them. The bay door opened halfway so they could stand on it as the dropship used minimal thrusters to rotate ninety degrees. The only sounds were the air motion of the ship's hover, and the purr of its barely operating thrusters as the ghosts jumped out. They could see the bay door closing as the dropship coasted back down the street they were on. They quickly spread out to dark places and surveyed the area. It was a city street, and other than the periodic street lamp, mostly dark. Bits of trash stagnated in the gutters. Cans rattled around every so often, but otherwise silence.  
The ghosts were equipped with silenced pistols and highly sharp diamond tipped knives. If necessary they could use all their strength to stab the knives through the militia's bubble helmets and into their heads. They did not carry canister rifles or any large caliber guns. The mission was about infiltration, and the ghosts were still too small to move effectively with that much weight. Their nightvision was self-adjusting, a system electronically detected the level of voltage created by the available light passing through, and adjusted the strength of the vision to prevent eye damage from all but the most sudden changes in light intensity. Staying to the dark sides of the street, they made their way toward the fortress on the hill in the distance.  
  
Trista Zaone was the first to notice. Trista was the best comm. person the Korhal Militia had. She hadn't been able to fight, she didn't have much experience in that, and even if she had wanted to before, the Space Marines didn't enlist women. However, she did know her way around communication systems, and when she saw a way to help out the militia, she jumped at it. Before the revolt she had been with the colonial comm. service for the area, keeping all of Augustgrad's, and a few other city's, comm. systems in tip top shape. One of the most important things for the Confederacy was to maintain constant contact with their colonies. After all, how could they control a colony if they had no knowledge of what it was doing.  
Trista had an average height. Her skin was of a light chestnut tone with hair to match that was usually kept in a folded ponytail. She was possessed of a most unusual smile. When she smiled with her white teeth, it was not the shy downcast type that some thought all women had. This was a deliberate and direct smile. She looked people in the eyes and projected it. Most found it difficult to not reciprocate the gesture as well as the feeling that she sent their way. Her figure was mildly athletic, she enjoyed long walks especially when they were in new places that she could explore. This was normal given her healthy sense of curiosity that sometimes got the best of her.  
At the moment she was quite curious as she sat in the tactical room of Augustgrad's former Confederate base. She had been working on bringing the Confederate communication systems under full militia control. The problem she had found was that there was a satellite protocol embedded in the system. This allowed any Confederate system with clearance to enter the base's systems and control them via satellite. Trista was having trouble cutting off this protocol as it had been built in as one of the system's foundations, and she was worried that she would have to rebuild the entire system. Then the protocol became active and a command to completely deactivate the base's radar was received. It happened too quickly for her to stop, so she began working on reactivating it right away. However, that still left several minutes that the majority of Augustgrad was radar blind. The radar on the Magistrate's mansion would still be working, but it was outdated and had relatively little range.  
"Excuse me, Sir," she called to a senior officer in the militia who was currently overseeing the tactical room.  
He responded as he moved to her workstation, "What is it."  
"Our radar just shut down," she notified.  
"Well turn it back on," he ordered.  
"I working on it, but it will take a little while, looks like the radar software was tampered with. I noticed that someone used the satellite link to shut it down from outside. I thought you should know," Trista looked up at him with a slightly regretful expression.  
"Just keep an eye on that radar, I have to report this," answered the Officer, returning to his position.  
She kept a display of the now blank radar screen on her monitor as she fixed the simple bugs in the radar that had obviously been put their to slow her down, but quickly became engrossed in her attempts to sever the satellite link once the problem was taken care of. It was the only way to stop these things from happening, and it would give them all that much more freedom.  
  
Privates Laine and Reeman were the only prisoners captured by the militia after the military base had been captured. They had been kept in the brig of the base, but Mengsk had them taken to an old jail under the magistrate's residence. He was interested in what they might know and wanted to talk to them personally.  
The concrete and steel jail was dark and dusty due to neglect. Angus and Buller walked down the hall filled with stale air. A circular lamp lit the hall in front of the cell to ward off the claustrophobic darkness. Their shadows fell upon the two men in the cell who stood up straight once they were aware of the others presence.  
"So, you're the two," identified Mengsk.  
"You two are awful lucky to be around," added Buller.  
The two prisoners simply stood in silence. "Do you have anything to say?" Posed Mengsk.  
"What do you want us to say?" Returned Reeman with a blank stare.  
"We know who you are, and what you did," Angus explained simply.  
"Since we've been hospitable enough to let you live this long, we feel you owe us some answers," insinuated Buller, then in a lower voice,"especially after trying to kill us." Laine shivered from a chill in the old jail, and possibly fear of his eminent demise. Now that he got a better look at Angus he thought that he did recognize him from the night at the courthouse, but he hadn't noticed Buller then. Reeman was not sure what was happening, but he decided to keep silent.  
"What do you want to know," replied Laine.  
"Everything you know," Angus quickly responded.  
Laine stared back. He knew that he had been left behind by Alpha Squadron. Col. Burns would probably throw them in the stockade if they returned. There were no other choice for them now. He glanced back at Reeman, who looked as clueless as he was. Laine didn't know what their future would hold, but his mind told him that whatever would keep them alive longest, however remote the possibility, was what he must do. Laine clutched at one of the cold cell bars with his hand and kept it there, feeling his body heat warm the bar as it cooled his hand.  
"A man named Burns put us up to it, but from what we heard, the General, Duke, is the real guy calling the shots. He said the magistrate was hiding something from us. When he sent us out, we figured it was to take out some armed anti-Confederacy group or something. When we saw that the Magistrate was one of them," he paused and exhaled, their interrogators were listening intently, "We didn't know that they were cleaning out their old government. We were just soldiers doing what we were told...being used as cheap assassins."  
"Why don't you tell that to the pile of bodies you left behind, those people you murdered, because that's what it was!" Yelled Buller taking a step forward as he pointed a finger at them. "All the blood, the warm flesh pressing against you...you...you motherfu..," Angus reached out a hand and gripped Buller's shoulder, tightly. Buller went silent and stared at the floor.  
"What else?" Pressed Mengsk.  
Laine thought a moment while he let go of the bar and sat on a bench that was ready to fall apart. "Burns was really pissed that we didn't take you out," Laine said, looking directly at Angus, "I guess they really want you gone, I think you're their number one target now."  
That had given Angus something to think about, not that he was surprised. His shoulders sagged a little and he started to walk out of the old, dry, dark hall. Buller followed him.  
"What should we do with them?" Angus questioned Buller.  
"Kill the assholes," Buller put it bluntly as his features hardened.  
"Maybe, I have to think about it. I'm more worried about the Confederacy's next move," Angus brushed off.  
"We need that outside help you told us about. We've done fine so far, but I don't know if we can hold out if they make a big counterattack," insisted Buller, admitting the precarious position they were in.  
"We can talk more about it tomorrow. Good night Buller."  
"Good night, sir," said Buller. Angus nodded his head and walked back to the elevator they had descended on. A man came from behind Buller and attracted his attention.  
"Sir, there is an urgent com from the base." Buller followed him down a couple of corridors to the nearest comms terminal where he transferred a feed of the face of a senior officer waiting.  
"Commander Buller, we have just had our radar deactivated by someone using the satellite link that we have been unable to cut off. We are bringing it back online, but the nature of the shutdown has delayed us. There will be a ten to fifteen minute window of radar silence."  
Buller responded, "Understood, thank you for the notice." The officer gave a salute and ended the transmission. Buller turned back to the man that summoned him, "I don't like this, but we can't do much. Make sure the walls are fully manned, and have people scan the skies. We can at least try to spot any light their thrusters give off.  
  
The ghosts had ascended the hilltop from a side that kept them away from the main gate. They were surprised to find the militia alert and actually patrolling the walls. It was an indication that they may have been expected. The funny thing was, they thought, that they still would never be detected despite any level of watchfulness.  
The spotlights were not being used, and it made it much easier to reach the wall unseen. All three of them focused their minds. Those patrolling the wall above continued, but they all thought there was something away from the area where the ghosts were, an unexplainable sound or presence perhaps. Soon, all the militia were looking away from the section of wall that the ghosts were under. The two males made a human tower that the female used to get on top of the wall. She only glanced around for an instant at the patrollers, who all had their backs to her, while tossing down a light but strong length of material and walking off the other side of the fortification to the safety of darkness. Though she fell roughly fifteen feet or so, she landed on the soft cold grass with her feet like a cat. As she had fell she had focused her mind on slowing her descent, and it seemed that the rate she fell had remained constant instead of accelerating out of control. At the bottom, with the other end of the length still in her hand, she fastened it around the base of a bush then tugged the other end to signal the others who took the strand of material with them after climbing up to ward suspicion off. Behind them searchlights had been turned on to find the phantom presence.  
Inside the walls they found plenty of cover from surveillance in the foliage. They moved toward the front entrance which had a militia and a camera on each side, they checked to make sure that all of the other cameras were not watching the front, and flanked the position again focusing on the minds of the militia. Soon, the two guards were looking at each other.  
"You make a sound?" Asked one.  
"You're the one making noise," said the other.  
Around the helmets of each appeared a pair of legs, and the male ghosts, now perched on them, held their diamond blades high before using their strength to stab down through the protective bubble helmets and into their foreheads. "Glaa!" Was all one managed to utter before dying. The males stabbed out the lights on the walls next to them and backslapped off of the suits before they clattered onto the cold ground. The area around them was now in darkness and that section was largely blind to all the cameras. It took all three of them to drag the bodies to spots that they would not be found in.  
They used small special drills to get through to the inside door hinges. A high voltage current was ran through them and through the hinges shorting out a system that would have alerted people to their entry. The door was opened a crack and a small EMP charge was tossed into the entryway to knock out all the electronic security within. If asked what the interior had looked like, they would have reported the layout and basic features, but they did not have the time or extra thought available to notice anything else.  
Most of the occupants of the building were in their beds. Those still up were tired and easily manipulated by the thoughts of the ghosts. Their knowledge of the security allowed them to quickly reach the stairwell. Another, smaller EMP charge took out the security lock. Inside, one of them produced what looked like a spraybottle and placed it to the metal wall at the bottom of the stairwell. The lightly pressured acid within corroded a square outline allowing them to remove a square of the wall away. A bundle of wires within was cut, and all of the lights, cameras, and door locks of the stairwell shut off. They moved quickly now as there was a chance that the small power loss would be noticed. One of the males exited the stair a level below the top while the other two continued.  
The now unlocked door opened easily, and they entered a well lit anteroom. It was grossly decadent, and looked more like the reception room of some ancient king known only in the mythical tails of their former home on earth. Carpet of scarlet with hints of pale yellow gave beneath their footsteps. Wood moldings surrounded the edges of the floor and ceiling. White and red patterns with dewdrops of green ran along the walls. Where the Confederate flag once was there now was nothing. The dominating feature was the fountain in the center of the room. It had a diameter of ten feet and was ivory white. The center tower sent water up in arcs that produced light babbling noises when hitting the pool. At this point they had passed the security, and causally went toward the wooden double doors on the other side of the fountain. A small terminal indicated that the door had a coded lock. The spray bottle allowed them to remove the terminal, and after a few minutes of wiring using an electrical diagram they had been provided with, and the sound of the bolt sliding back, the last barrier was opened. They quickly shut the small crack they had slipped through, and the darkness inside returned. They parted to different rooms silently, each now focusing on their assigned targets.  
The female now entered the master bedroom, and for the first time saw the people she would kill through the clear green of her nightvision. While her fellow ghost took care of the children in the other bedroom a few yards away, she slowly drew her silenced pistol, and placed three shots into the heart of the woman on the bed after placing the weapon between her ribs. The man next to her had not awoken, and that would make things much easier. The wife seemed to be sleeping as peacefully as ever. It always comforted her to know that their deaths were peaceful; just ending their pain as she had always been told. Indeed, sleep seemed only the smallest step from death itself, she had only given her the smallest push into everlasting respite.  
Now only the man remained, this Mengsk who was so important, but in reality he was just another man, no one person was above another, her similar ease in killing all types of terrans had taught her that. She replaced her pistol, and removed the diamond knife. Those who had sent her to this planet in the first place wanted her to bring back a token from this man. Just so they could be sure the job was done. She stood just to the side and over him now, it was time to complete her mission.  
  
Pavel had finally become tired enough to sleep, but his dreams haunted him. He saw the image of his wife in front of him. She seemed like something more than terran now, something better than he was. Every part of his body yearned to join her, and he was so close to doing just that, but his spirit was unwilling. It held him back for some reason.  
Still he reached his hand out and felt...the cold touch of iron as his hand pushed it away from him. The sensation jolted him awake as the silenced gun he had just pushed away went off, missing his head by centimeters. The small amount of light that came in through his window allowed him to make out a figure and smoke from a gun. All this happened in an instant and Pavel reflexively made a fist and swung it where he had felt the gun before. This time he felt the gun and what was a gloved hand. After flying across the room the gun made a thud sound against the wall. He could make out the motion of an arm and a flash in the hand as the assailant drew out the diamond knife. The attacker was so short that just sitting up in his bed, Pavel was able to grab the wrist holding the knife. The sudden shot of adrenaline had quickly roused him, but the situation had not allowed him the time to feel any other emotion or think any other thought than the small shot of fear that had driven his current actions. A foot came up and gave him a heavy blow behind the kidney. He gave off a wincing groan from the deep pain it caused him, and rolled off the bed still holding the wrist of his would be executioner. This forced the latter down with him and stabbed the blade into the floor, where it became lodged. Pavel rolled over the back of the attacker, and onto the floor. The ghost pounced onto his waist and, putting all of its weight on its hands, flipped its body over, and pulled Pavel's head back with one foot under the chin while placing the other beside his head. He knew that his neck was about to be broken, and grabbed the legs, pulling the ghost off balance. It landed on him and rolled off. He got to his feet and was at the door when he sensed the ghost was just behind him. Still thinking it a full grown terran, he elbowed where he thought its chest would be, but hit a pair of goggles instead. It was enough to send the shadowy figure clattering to the ground, and Pavel exited to run down the hall, now in the full grip of panic.  
Pavel sprinted down empty corridors without looking behind him. The simple white walls with circular lamps above were not threatening, but the silence made him feel like he was in hell. One meaningless hall after another passed, and then, without even knowing it, he was in front of Ben's room. His subconscious must have led him there because from what he could remember he was running in mindless fear. He knocked several times quickly, sounding like a woodpecker with a jackhammer. He did it again and again.  
Ben opened the door slowly, either to let his eyes adjust or to see who was on the other side first. He in boxers and a blue and red striped shirt, he always slept in his clothes. His hair was still in good condition, but his whiskers were becoming tuffed.  
"Wha," was all Ben said.  
"Someone just tried to kill me!" Pavel exclaimed, almost yelling.  
"Whaddya mean," said Ben, not really knowing what he had just said in his sonorous fugue.  
"Someone just tried to kill me!" Pavel repeated, yelling this time.  
At this Ben shook off his fatigue, threw on some pants, and grabbed a sidearm from inside his dresser, "Where?" He asked with much more precision in his speech.  
"In my room," answered Pavel now more nervous than anything else. He was more aware of the ache in his lower back now and was holding his side.  
  
"Go raise the alarm. We gotta lock this place down and sweep it," Ben instructed. Pavel just nodded his head and ran off. Ben hiked down the corridors to Pavel's room. The door was ajar and there was a silver twilight inside. With one hand holding his gun, Ben kicked the door open and used his other hand to press the light switch. He paused and scanned the room. At the far end were billowy white curtains that allowed just a center crack of the window to be seen. A modest wood table stood to the left with a recessed television in the wall to its left. A queen-sized bed was on the right, and its covers were twisted up and half on the floor. He stepped into the room.  
"You want to kill someone, why don't you take me on you bastard," Ben said to the room in general. He glanced around and inspected where the covers had fallen to the floor. There was a long thin gash in the carpet that looked like it could have been made by a knife, but there were no weapons to be seen. Closing the door behind him, he left the room and went down the hall. The most important thing was to make sure Angus was safe.  
The stairway down the hall was almost completely dark, and Ben had to use his hands and the railing to just make it up the one level to Mengsk's floor. The added realization that his security card to open the stairway doors was unnecessary made the understanding of just what was happening sink in. His stomach had knotted up with dread. At last he felt the top story door latch and cautiously pulled it open. Buller was already on the other side of the fountain with a group of militia.  
"Sir," said one of the militia beckoning at the exposed wiring and the access panel laying on the floor.  
"Well, don't just stand there, check it out," Buller ordered. The militiamen activated headlights on their suits and entered the double doors. All the lights inside soon turned on.  
"Where's Pavel?" Asked Ben while walking over to Buller.  
"He's on his way up. I was already on my way up when he called in the security breach. We noticed that several security systems had been knocked out and I thought it best to check on Mengsk as soon as possible," Buller addressed Ben while turning to face him.  
The elevator gave off a cheery tone and the doors opened to reveal a haggard looking Pavel who joined the others. Before anyone could talk, the militia returned. The security squad leader didn't look at Buller as he reported in a dry voice, "Its all clear. You might want to take a look." Buller went inside. "They got the kids too, we'll continue our sweep," the leader called out, purposely not explaining his words. As the squad went to a separate, still lit stairway, Ben locked eyes with the leader for only a moment. The fear and uncertainty in them answered all of his questions.  
Ben entered Mengsk's rooms and turned to see Buller framed in the doorway to the master bedroom. Buller looked at the bed and toward the balcony, neither of which Ben could see from where he stood. Buller sat in a wicker chair next to him. He looked very pale from the doorway, and he folded his hands together and put his elbows on his legs before resting his nonexistent chin and his mouth on his hands. One by one tears of despair silently slid down the sides of his nose as he stared vacantly at the floor.  
Ben entered, his gut about ready to burst with tension, and looked at the bed. The covers had been thrown over what must have been the body of Angus' wife. On Angus' side was a trail of dried blood that ran along the bed and the floor toward the balcony. Ben took a few steps in that direction and looked out of the open balcony doors. The only sound to be heard was the faint trickle of the fountain in the other room. The cold air blowing in causing the curtains to wave about chilled Ben, and a shiver of dark anticipation coursed through his body. Out on the large balcony lay the body of Angus Mengsk, in his nightclothes, decapitated in a pool of his own blood.  
Ben stepped outside and stared at it, exclaiming, "Where the hell is his head!" Buller didn't notice, and seemed completely oblivious of the outside world.  
Ben went a few yards to the balcony railing and grasped it like he was going to break it in two. "Where the hell is his head!" He screamed in rage at the lights of the city below which surrounded the hill they were on.  
The tension had passed. The moment had come and the worst had proved to be true. Now he felt an ever increasing worry. New thoughts began to enter his mind. He wondered what would happen to them all now. The rebellion had been successful up to now, but there had not been enough time for it to become stabilized. It would fall to pieces in less than a week. Angus had been the one that had held them all together. These people needed a strong figurehead, but now they would feel powerless again. Ben felt nauseous, and his hands and face became chilled by the breeze that had started to blow.  
  
Pavel had remained outside, alone by the fountain while the others were inside. He had heard Ben scream out his enraged question and it was obvious what had happened to him. The realization made his face flush, and he could feel the blood pounding through his head. He tried to think what it meant, but in the end he knew. 'What am I going to do' he thought, 'The Confederates are going to come back and what am I going to do. They'll hunt us all down, they'll kill us all. I'm going to die.' That last sentence echoed in his mind a million times in rapid succession.  
It may have been that phrase that started it, but nevertheless the pounding in his head strengthened, and he felt the pain of his concussion return. His breathing quickened and felt the pain in his abdomen, where he had been shot, return. In fact all the pains of all the cuts and scratches, bumps and bruises throughout his life, no matter how big or small returned. The pain forced him to sit on the ring of the fountain. He braced himself with his hands. His skin became reddish and hot as his entire body tensed.  
Deep inside, Pavel knew that he should have died on that day when he was shot, and his body knew it too. Now it was trying to complete what should have been completed quite a while ago. However, his spirit was not ready.  
He resisted his end, but it gripped him, a pain in the core of his body. The exertion cause the sweat to drip down his skin, and he was beginning to lose it as the conflict ravaged his body. His eyes became bloodshot and tears of blood ran down his face. His nose, ears, and mouth began to bleed. His skin became pale and he stopped producing heat. All of his senses left him. In the end all that he could see, in his mind's eye, was his heart beating with only the slowest, softest spark of life.  
He thought to that pain now at the core of his being, 'I can't die, I'm not done. I have to do what is right. I have to do it still. I can't die.'  
Then the pain, as much as it wanted to consume him was forced to recede, and though Pavel knew part of it was his own resolve, he felt an outside force that had helped as well. His heart regained its spark and his senses returned. The chill of death passed and his skin regained its color. The last drops of blood fell from his face and dispersed in the water of the fountain, like a red mist. Pavel lay prone on the ring of the fountain with one hand in the pool. He was exhausted but even now would not sleep for the constant fear of death, and his eyes, half lidded, looked at the doorway of a man who met his fate while he had yet to meet his own.  
  
Still, Pavel could only wonder how he would ever bring justice to the Confederacy and avenge all of the people it had killed, especially his family.  
'What will I do,' he thought again.  
His mind only gave him only one simple answer, 'Do what you need to live.' 


End file.
